


You rearrange me till I'm sane

by icywind



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Feels, M/M, Mention of Non-Con (Not between the main pairing), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 09:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/pseuds/icywind
Summary: Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes.Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him.Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many things to say. Firstly - please heed both the tags and the chapter notes for warnings on content. The suicide attempt is right away in this one. 
> 
> Thank you to alpha readers and cheerleaders: phae, ereshai and petronellarose. The encouragement and occasional yelling and cursing were most welcome. Really. 
> 
> Thank you to beta readers (and cheerleaders) kajmere, nursedarry, and alby. I dunno how you guys managed this beast but I can’t thank you enough. Like a million times over and from the bottom of my heart and all that good stuff. You made this passably readable and yeah - THANK YOU.
> 
> Thank you to my artists [alby_mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Alby_Mangroves) and [mekare](https://mekare.dreamwidth.org/), and please check out the awesome that is their work. Like. Dang. SO AWESOME. CAPSLOCK I MEAN IT AWESOME. I got a little weepy like Clint on the good meds. Links are [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12685287) for alby and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12683460) for mekare.
> 
> This story got away from me. Parts of it are also personal in a way that you probably shouldn't allow a story to become. The kernel of the idea was jotted down not long after my father passed away last year when my mind was in a darker mood. And then this year that ended up latching onto the basic idea of Bucky and Clint taking a road trip...which went from being a fun and silly one to one of healing and discovery. I wasn't able to take that trip myself and I don't have a buddy to do it with, but I think writing this helped me a little in the end. I hope you enjoy.

 

 

Strange how the sky could be so pretty up above when there was so much destruction down below, Clint thought muzzily as he picked at a seam in his pants while staring upwards. It had been...well, he actually couldn't recall how many days it had been since the battle. The Battle of New York. Or was it the Battle of Manhattan – the media hadn't quite decided which one they liked better yet, and there was a part of him that wondered what the ridiculous movie about it would be called in ten years time.

It would be interesting to see how he was handled in them. Would they show that he'd been on the side of the Avengers at all or just have him be a turncoat?

Did it really matter?

He lost a few minutes, maybe more, his mind flitting from stupid movie ideas, to how much work still needed to be done on the ground, to wondering if there was going to be a monument or something, and back to the work, because when he looked up again the sun was in a different spot. Huh.

The fever from his untreated wounds was pretty damn bad. He could stand, but it took all of his energy to stay on his feet. It was a shame, really, because he didn't feel like he'd even begun to make amends for what he'd done.

The fact that he'd thrown up the water he'd drunk that morning pretty much sealed things. He could either seek treatment and deprive someone more worthy of the supplies and the bed and manpower put into treating him, or he could just let nature take its course.

The life of Clint Barton, finally coming to its ignoble end. No great loss there, he thought with a harsh chuckle that turned into a cough. He'd always been more trouble than he was worth.

“Put everyone out of my misery – their misery – whatever,” he mumbled, pulling himself up and shuffling over to the edge. So then came the question – did he just let it happen here on the roof? How long would it take to find his body if he chose that route and what condition would he be in? Maybe...maybe he should just take the quick route. He stared out over the city, the wind felt wonderful against his fevered skin and he closed his eyes against it, allowing himself for a moment to block out the visual of what he'd done. The loss and destruction he was partially responsible for. It would be easy to just sway forwards and let go. No more nightmares. No more guilt. Natasha wouldn't understand and he felt bad about that, but maybe she would forgive him eventually. He hoped.

He pulled the burner phone out of his pocket to record a short message. Apologizing to Nat. To Nick. To anyone else willing to listen. There were so few on that list now. All his fault. It felt so inadequate. He felt inadequate and he mentioned as such. Message saved, he tossed the phone back into the sleeping bag he'd been using. They'd find it not long after they found his body. He sat heavily, needing a second to steady himself, then swung his legs over the edge. Another wave of dizziness hit and it was easy – he just toppled off.

 

~~

 

The Soldier watched as the man shuffled over to the edge. The injuries he'd been nursing since the Soldier had first come to notice him two days ago while doing a perimeter check of the building his safe house was located in, seemed to finally be catching up to him. He should have gone in for treatment. The Soldier had no idea why he hadn’t, nor why it was something he'd be wondering about in the first place. The man wasn't important. The Soldier was just waiting for new orders.

Then the man swung himself unsteadily onto the ledge, and between one second and the next, gravity had taken control. The Soldier reacted – leaping off his building and shooting a net at the man with one arm while he shot a grappling hook back up at the reinforced fire escape with the other. There was no other way he'd be able to catch him in time. Within seconds he was sliding down the line to the man's limp form and using his momentum to swing them both onto the fire escape.

He didn't stop to think or wonder why he'd saved the unconscious man he was currently hefting over his shoulders to carry into the safe house. It had just felt...natural. Which was strange because the Soldier didn't save – he killed.

He tilted his head to the side - looking, studying. Attempting to figure out why he'd chosen to save the man he'd just dumped onto the bed. He had no orders for this. No protocols to fall back on.

The man smelled, and not just of dirt and sweat but also sickness and infection. He should bathe the man and treat his wounds. It was short work divesting him of his clothing and carrying him to the tub. A thought occurred to him as the Soldier worked to clean the man's legs, mindful of the cuts that littered them – if he woke up during the treatment, the mask may startle him into reacting badly.

Perhaps he should take the mask off? The thought made him pause, why should he care how the man might react?

Because the man may injure himself further – negating what the Soldier was doing. He might attempt to injure the Soldier himself. That would be unfortunate and unproductive.

Reason accepted, he removed the goggles and mask and set them safely away in the main room before he returned to disinfect and treat the man's back. There was glass still embedded in some of the cuts – the likely source of the infection that had the man running such a high temperature.

As it turned out, the Soldier hadn't needed to remove the mask, because when the man did wake up as he was cleaning his wounds, the man was clearly delirious, eyes darting around but not seeing anything. The Soldier could have had a bat's head for all he would have noticed, and perhaps that is what the man saw, since his mouth was spouting nonsense as his arms flailed. The infection had left him with very little strength. The Soldier handled him without difficulty, and it wasn't long before he slipped into unconsciousness again.

The bath finished, the wounds cleaned, dried, and bandaged, loose clothing pulled on to help keep his temperature steady and the Soldier was content to settle the man on the bed, putting in an IV before leaving him be.

Going through the man’s clothes, there was no ID, just as there had been no ID when the Soldier had looked through his gear the day before when he'd been out, so he'd have to wait to find out what to call him.

It would be another two days before that happened.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint blinked awake slowly, confused for a moment because last he could recall, he'd been sleeping rough in an abandoned building. He also felt much less like death warmed over. And speaking of death... He groaned and raised a hand to his head, surprised when he found an IV in his arm.

“How'm I still alive?” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut because he couldn't quite remember if he'd jumped or not, and wasn't it just like him to not even commit suicide properly.

“You fell.” A gruff voice said. Clint's eyes snapped open and he turned much too quickly (exquisite pain!) to find its source. “I caught you and brought you here.” The voice spoke from the shadows, which – creepy – and Clint strained to get a better look at him.

“Caught?” It wasn't Thor or Stark, and really, from what little he'd seen, 'here' didn't strike him as something Stark-related anyways (so probably not his pal Rhodes either).

“Yes, caught.” The figure stepped forwards into better lighting and Clint had no idea how to react. “Why did you try to kill yourself?” the Winter Soldier asked him.

Oh fuck...the Winter Soldier was real. He wasn't a myth, or a ghost story, or anything – he was really real. How the hell was this happening?

“Metal arm.” He said dumbly, wincing at himself because – really Barton? Blue eyes in a really distractingly attractive face (aww drugs making him fuzzy) glanced down at the arm and back to Clint.

“Yes.”

And okay then. They stared at each other for a while, the silence heavy between them.

“I don't know,” he replied, and somehow, though he said nothing, the weight of the Soldier's gaze made him duck his head, ashamed. “I just...it seemed easier at the time...I guess?” Clint stared at the blanket covering him. “Why's it matter?” The lack of reply made him look back up at the Soldier. His face was neutral at first glance, but when he took another look Clint saw it. Confusion. It was all in his eyes.

“I don't know,” the Soldier said, and the confusion very nearly spilled over from his eyes and onto his face when he realized what he'd said.

“You did this?” Clint asked, raising the hand with the IV and gesturing vaguely to indicate the general treating of his wounds.

“Yes.”

And okay – man of few words – that was cool.

“Good work.” The Soldier inclined his head in lieu of thanks, though his eyes seemed confused again – especially now that Clint knew what to look for.

“So um...” Clint cleared his throat and then startled when the Soldier moved to offer him a cup of water with a straw. “Thanks,” he murmured as the Soldier moved back again. This was so damn weird.

“Um...can I ask you something?” Despite the Soldier's face being calm and blank, Clint got the feeling that he wasn't often asked things like that from the way he hesitated before inclining his head again – which Clint took as a go ahead. “Are you...Are you going to kill me?”

He had no idea how he'd react if the Soldier said yes.

“You are not my mission.” He replied.

“Okay. Not your mission.” Clint nodded like he had a clue what that meant.

“My mission was to obtain information from Impressio Industries and take out Paula Marinez the CEO of the company. Parameters dictated I should take out anything that caused resistance. There was none. The mission was successful and I returned to my handlers.”

...what? Clint blinked, too shocked to figure out how to respond. The Winter Soldier had just outlined a mission to him. In a very very basic way, but still. He'd admitted to killing someone and stealing information. And technically that fact didn't bother Clint – a job was a job to a merc – he'd been there once or twice himself. But the way he recited everything so...mechanically... And the whole having handlers was niggling at his brain.

“Okay, so that's a no on the killing me?”

“You are not impeding me from my mission, and you are not my mission.”

Clint shook his head again as if that would help clear it somehow, make this all less surreal. “So...what uh... What is your mission then? Right now. If...if it's okay to ask.”

The Soldier was silent again, for longer than Clint had expected. Any longer really and he'd have thought the Soldier hadn’t heard or understood the question.

“I don't...have one,” the Soldier replied, and maybe Clint was hearing things or maybe there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. “My handlers for this mission were killed shortly after its completion. Our exfiltration point was compromised. They were unable to set up a new point or give me new instructions before they were killed. Programming dictates I fall back to a safe location and await further communication or extraction.”

And oh – Clint was feeling nauseous, and it really really wasn't because of any of his injuries or infection.

“Programming,” Clint eventually said, breathing carefully. This... He wasn't the right person for this. He didn't have his shit together enough to deal with much of anything, let alone something of this magnitude.

“Programming.” The Soldier said, almost in agreement.

“Can...” Clint took a breath, choosing his words carefully. “Can you explain more?”

The Soldier seemed to consider the request for a moment before nodding.

“I had an accident that caused brain damage and the loss of my arm. The Organization found me and saved me. They gave me a new arm and fixed my brain as best they could. But, because of the damage I was – am unstable sometimes. I have basic programming such as the training to use multiple types of weapons, several forms of martial arts and hand to hand combat. I receive specialized instruction for each mission as well.

“Do they...” No, that wasn't right. God, how was he supposed to do this? “Other than your arm, are there more parts of you that are – robotic? Cyborg? Do they...do they plug you in like a computer?” Unstable – what did that mean? Would Clint have to do anything? Was he in a different kind of danger now?

“Other than the hardware for my arm, I have no other mechanical parts. Before each mission, or if I glitch for some reason, I am placed in The Chair. It wipes me, helps me focus.” The words were dispassionate but Clint could see, through his own growing horror, something that looked a lot like fear in the Soldier's eyes when he spoke of The Chair.

“How...Do you kn-” he shook his head. Did he really want to know this? Did he really want to make the Soldier talk about it?

“Electricity,” he replied, his voice quieter than it had been up till now. Clint had barely even thought the question before the Soldier followed up with, “It hurts every time.”

“I'm so sorry,” Clint said, shame washing through his body as tears sprung to his eyes. Shit – he was on morphine. Pain meds made it so damn hard to control his emotions. Morphine always made him quick to cry.

“You don't.” The Soldier looked confused and stepped closer to the bed. “Why?” he asked, not stopping to allow Clint to reply. “My work has shaped the course of the century.”

Clint reached out on autopilot, groping through his tears before grabbing one of the Soldier's hands without really thinking about it. The metal was cool in his grip and he held it tightly. Clint knew the sound of a sales pitch when he heard one. The bullshit some asshole in charge would say to make you feel better about doing their dirty work.

Something you'd say when you were brainwashing someone.

Clint sniffed a few times, blinking to try to clear his eyes, and glanced up when he felt fingers brush very very gently against his cheek through the trails of his tears. He didn't think he had words for the expression on the Soldier's face.

“You.” The Soldier looked down at his metal hand, held tightly within Clint's grip. “You're crying.” He rubbed the thumb and fingers of his flesh hand together, wet from where they'd wiped Clint's tears. “You're crying, for me. I don't...understand.”

“It's you but also it's the morphine,” Clint said, brutal honesty winning out because that too was something that happened sometimes on pain meds. “Morphine makes me weepy as fuck.” He wasn't sure what the sound was that the Soldier made in reply to that – something like a cough, maybe an attempt at a laugh – and Clint was pretty sure that the Soldier was surprised he'd made it from the change in his microexpression.

“The morphine made you go from worrying I might kill you one moment to crying over me the next?”

And wow – that was a whole lotta words at once. Maybe this was some sort of breakthrough. Clint looked up at the Soldier and gave him a watery smile in a silent 'good job using your words' way. He was, however, somewhat dismayed by the Soldier’s response. “You don't see it, do you? We always figured the Winter Soldier worked for an organization mostly – not just freelance, but we never...” Clint shook his head.

“No sense,” the Soldier muttered, but Clint wasn't paying attention.

His life was still a giant shit show but maybe... Maybe he had it in him to do this one last thing. It wouldn't make up for what he'd done. In fact, saving a man with as much blood on his hands as Clint himself had was potentially not much of a save at all. But he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that the Winter Soldier didn't seem to be fully in control of himself, and how wrong that was. If he’d been brainwashed he couldn't be held accountable for his actions. Clint was, of course, conveniently overlooking how the same could be applied to himself for what was done under Loki – if he had just been stronger...

“We gotta get you out of here,” Clint said, grabbing the blanket and pulling it off of his lap and moving to swing his legs off of the bed.

“We?” The Soldier put his hand on Clint's arm and stopped him with a look. “I need to stay here and await further instruction. You need to stay in this bed until you have more fully recovered.”

“No time for that.” Clint shook his head. “It's been what – a week since everything went down?”

“Ten days.”

“Ten days. Shit.”Clint had been out of it for a few days rather than a few hours then. “All the more reason to get moving.” He pushed the Soldier's hand off his arm, slid his feet to the floor and stood – then promptly felt his ankle buckle, and he fell against the Soldier whose arms encircled him and deposited him back on the bed. The expression on the Soldier's face said 'I told you so,' for a second before turning blank again.

“Okay – point stands we still need to leave. We. I'm not leaving you behind.”

“But my orders-”

“Orders from an organization that electrocutes your brain?” Clint frowned because he didn't want to get exasperated with the Soldier himself. What had been done to him wasn’t his fault. His devotion brought about by brainwashing was getting in the way of Clint’s saving him, and they didn't have time for that. “They haven't heard from you in ten days and maybe they haven’t realized it yet, but maybe they have. What do you think that means?”

“They will attempt to send me new orders, or send a team in to assist in exfiltration.”

“And what's going to happen when they see you've helped me?”

The Soldier said nothing in reply, his face carefully blank.

“They won't like that I’ve seen you. Your face. And even if you hadn't told me anything, they'll probably assume the worst won't they?”

“They would eliminate you,” the Soldier said, face still blank, but his eyes… there was a stony anger in them. “I don't want them to kill you.”

“Me neither bud.” Clint replied with a pat to the Soldier's arm, which earned him a tiny eyebrow furrow. This organization wouldn't appreciate Clint knowing anything about them. He would be killed and the Soldier would be put back in The Chair to make sure he didn't say anything else. “You ready to consider getting the hell outta Dodge now?”

“If that means leaving this safe house for a better location, yes,” the Soldier said. “I could let you go on your own, but I doubt you would make it very far without me.”

Clint let out a laugh despite himself, and then another when the Soldier furrowed his brows again at Clint's amusement. 

“You know – it's kinda funny in a way,” Clint began as he pulled on some clothes while the Soldier did his best to sweep the safe house and remove any sign they had been there. “You saved me and now I get to help save you.”

“You're not saving me,” the Soldier replied. “I do not require saving, and at the moment I'm still saving you.”

“Semantics” Clint waved a hand. “We're saving each other?”

“If you insist,” the Soldier replied as Clint finished getting dressed.

“Okay man – let's blow this Popsicle stand.”

 

~~

 

Clint's leg wasn't too bad, so they ditched the car they'd lifted to leave the Soldier's safe house before getting on the ferry, huddling together and looking beat. Like they were nothing more than two people who'd been helping out with the cleanup and were on their way home for the evening.

Once they landed on Staten Island, Clint let the Soldier take the lead again in selecting a car, noting with interest his Holmesian study of details in picking a vehicle that was less likely to be reported missing – though he bristled when the Soldier blocked him from getting into the driver’s seat.

“Look – it's my safe house we're going to – I should drive.”

“You need to rest,” the Soldier replied unmoved. “Give me the coordinates.”

The proceeded to bicker back and forth, complete with some epic bitch-faces, until Clint finally relented and rattled off a string of numbers. The Soldier nodded and pulled out of the lot and into traffic.

“I'm Clint by the way,” he said, once they'd been on the road for a few minutes. The Soldier's eyes flicked towards him during his sweep of the mirrors to double check they weren’t being followed. “My name. It's Clint.” That got him another look. “Just...y'know. So we're not all 'hey-you-ing' each other all the time.”

“You talk a lot, Clint.”

“Yes, thanks. I do, don't I?” He fidgeted in the seat briefly. “So normally in these cases it's polite to reply in kind.” He made a giving gesture with his hand. The Soldier raised a brow. “What should I call you?”

“Most refer to me as Soldier. Some call me the Asset.”

“That's it?”

“That's all I have ever needed.”

“But you had a name at some point. An actual facts 'I’m a human being, I am a person name.' You had to.” Why wasn’t he bothered more by that? Why did it bother Clint so much? “You're someone's son, maybe someone's brother – you weren't grown in a vat.”

“There was something else… The Fist… The Fist of...” Whatever the full title was seemed to have escaped him.

“That's not better. Not better at all.” Despite his own frustration, Clint could see on the Soldier's face that he was trying to think, trying to remember.

“I'm sorry this bothers you.”

“Doesn't it bother you?”

“I don't...” and there was the confused face again. 

“Okay, okay,” Clint held his hands up, placating. “Let's shelve that for now then. At least the remembering part. How about a name you'd maybe like for yourself? Something I can call you that isn't Soldier or Asset?” Confusion again, though not the 'I'm getting upset' kind but more the 'bewildered' kind. Clint wasn't sure he'd ever known there were so many nuances to confusion before.

“A name I can choose.”

“Any name you want.” Clint replied, voice cheerful.

The Soldier's face went very serious, like he was giving it some deep thought, and Clint couldn't help but smile even as he felt bad about it. No one should feel like picking a name was a chore or mission. Then again, no one should be living with only a job title as a name so...yeah.

“You've got time to think about it,” Clint said around a sizable yawn. “I'm going to take you up on that whole time to rest thing and catch forty winks if that's cool.” And thanks to the drugs still in his system he fell asleep close on the heels of the Soldier's nod of agreement.

 

~~

 

“We're here,” the Soldier announced, turning to look at his companion. Clint was still out like a light. “Clint, we have arrived.” He finally did stir when the Soldier put a hand on his shoulder, startling awake, face scrunching up.

“Wuzzat?”

“You sleep too soundly. It's dangerous.” I'm dangerous, he very nearly added. The longer between sessions in The Chair, the more likely he was to glitch. The handlers had always worried about him glitching.

“Yeah, well, still medicated.” Clint yawned and stretched then scrubbed a hand over his face in some sort of bizarre waking ritual perhaps? “Gonna hafta snag some breakfast soon. Hell, even a Mickey-D's would be amazing right now.”

“Shouldn't we be keeping a low profile if we're on the run?” The Soldier stopped scanning the parking lot and glanced over to see Clint was scratching at his abdomen. “Stop that. It's healing.”

“Boss.” Clint gave a very vague approximation of a salute. “And yeah, low profile is good, but a man's gotta eat. And other than that IV, I haven't done that in...” He tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Well it's been a while. Shawarma probably. 'Bout you?”

“What about me?” And what did 'shawarma' mean, and why did the Soldier really wonder about that?

“When did you eat last?”

“I had a required nutrient bar yesterday and brought more with us. I will have one later.”

“Nutrient bar. Damn – sounds tasty.” There was an insouciant tilt to Clint's smile, and the Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“That was sarcasm.”

“Yes it was – points for the Obvious Soldier.”

The Soldier wasn’t thrilled that Clint made him get on the Metro - mass transit had so many cameras - but Clint pointed out that they had hoodies on and they would just blend in with the rest of the crowd - which they did. They weren’t on it all that long either, just from Shady Grove to Rockville where they departed and Clint led the Soldier to a car in the south parking lot. From there Clint directed him to the apartment, a trip halted in the middle when Clint spotted a McDonalds. They loaded up on a bevy of the breakfast offerings and wandered over to nearby park to eat and enjoy the weather, with the Soldier putting away a very impressive amount of food. Nutrient bars were enough Clint’s well defined ass he thought as he watched the Soldier inhale a McGriddle with a look that was about as close to enjoyment as Clint could make out on his stony features.

He made a mental note to stop at another one when they hit the road. Just in case.

 

~~

 

The apartment building was nothing special, worn but kept up, and the Soldier's eyes darted around – just in case they’d been followed. He would have noticed if they’d had a tail while they'd been at the park. He was close to Clint, ready to take point when they entered the apartment itself, but stopped when he held up a hand.

“Wait a sec, I gotta do something – okay?”

The Soldier nodded, and remained in the doorway once Clint had entered the apartment. There was the usual security panel next to the door that Clint entered a code into – which rather than deactivating the security system caused a hidden panel to open in order to scan his thumbprint...and take a sample of his blood.

“All clear,” Clint called, and the Soldier made his way inside just as the name 'Clint Barton' and title 'Registered User' faded from the panel’s screen. “This is - was one of Phil's special safe houses.” He gestured towards the wall opposite the panel where the Soldier saw a hole in a piece of artwork. The barrel of a dart gun perhaps? “I was only given access to it a few months ago when we thought...well... That's not important now I guess,” He shrugged, hand at the back of his neck.

“Won't that be logged in a computer somewhere? Alert others to our presence here?”

“Eh...yes and no,” Clint said, moving further into the apartment. “It'll go somewhere into Phil's personal server – which has any number of auto-notifications going to it at any given time. And, since Phil is... dead...” Clint swallowed around an emotion at that admission. “And with everything that went down recently, no one is going to be looking at that too closely for a while. A month, easily, if not longer. We should be on the other side of the country by then.” He walked through to a kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water from a large refrigerator, offering one to the Soldier.

There was something he wasn't telling the Soldier, but was it something that might jeopardise their plans? A computer trace that they had been at this location, even a month after the fact, could do just that. If there was surveillance, the outcome could be even worse, and that might prove his behavior wasn't just some sort of glitch.

“Is there video of this apartment?” he asked, opening the water and taking a few sips as was expected of him.

“None. Interior or exterior. Which means anyone who’s trying to discover why the system is reading me here will have to put in a ton of work combing through CCTV feeds in the area looking for me on it. Adds even more time.”

The Soldier nodded, it wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. He stood in the kitchen as Clint puttered around the apartment, setting down the items they'd brought with them. He watched as Clint rummaged through a drawer to find a pad of paper and a pen, then headed over towards the couch – after stopping to poke at some sort of bobble-headed figurine with a smile that seemed...wistful.

“Were you involved in a sexual relationship with this 'Phil'?” the Soldier questioned, striding over to stand near the couch and the chair next to it but not sitting in either.

“Well. Guess that programming of yours didn't really include tact huh?” Clint said, glancing up to nod towards the chair and gusting out a sigh. His eyes tracked the Soldier's movements as he removed his SIG from its holster and placed it on the table between them before he settled into the chair. “Never been the best at it myself either. Sorry.”

He seemed contrite, so the Soldier nodded. He hadn't been offended. Which would probably bother Clint, so he didn't mention it.

“We circled around each other for what felt like forever – timing was never really right, you know? And then, just when we thought maybe we'd finally give things a go...he ends up meeting someone else on a mission.” Clint shrugged, shoulders falling into a slump at the end. Self deprecating. Shielding.

“What can you do, you know? When you meet that person, I guess you meet that person.” He kept his eyes on the pad of paper as he scribbled down something. “Probably for the best anyways. I've got a pretty terrible track record with relationships, and we always did work well together. Woulda hated to fuck that up.” He scribbled something else on the paper. “S'pose that doesn't matter either way now.”

The Soldier wasn't certain what to do at this point. Clint had been correct – his programming didn't really include any sort of interpersonal skills. When your primary usage was to kill people you usually didn't need to befriend them first. Somehow though he knew a normal response would – should be to offer some sort of comfort.

How did he know that? How was he supposed to do that? Wasn't apologizing for one's loss something a person would do? But was that for lovers or family only? Did almost-lovers count? Friends? Co-workers?

“I think I have decided on a name,” the Soldier announced instead. Because why not change the subject if he couldn't come up with the proper reaction?

“Yeah?” Clint's demeanor perked up.

“I think – Yasha, would be sufficient.”

“Yasha.”

“You don't approve?” the Soldier asked. It had been bouncing around his head for a while and there was something familiar about it, even if it didn't entirely feel right to him.

“No, no – if you like it, if that's what you want, that's what we'll go with.” Clint’s expression was thoughtful. “How did you come up with it?”

“I'm not sure, but I think someone called me that once.” He wouldn't say he had a memory of it because he didn't have many memories. It all went back to his injury he'd been told. But while he'd been driving and Clint had been sleeping the name had come to mind. “I think it could have been a woman?” A flash of red hair.

“Well alright. Yasha it is then.” Clint smiled at him, warm and – proud? The Soldier wasn't sure, but he thought it made him feel – good. “Pleased to meet you, Yasha.” He offered his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, the Soldier – Yasha, accepted it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion/Mention of Clint's suicidal ideation continues in this chapter. Both have bad mental days.

 

 

They stayed at the safe house for two nights while Clint gained a little more strength, and they ostensibly planned out a route. In reality they just decided on heading south, the more abstract and winding the route the better – all to ensure they had no one tailing them. There was a fine line between paranoia and caution, but they both agreed it would be best to err on the side of paranoia given their circumstances.

The first night (afternoon, really) they stopped in Brandywine, West Virginia at Clint's insistence, where he’d made a number of Lord of the Rings jokes before Yasha leveled a look at him that made him backpedal, and attempt to explain the books and films before he eventually gave up and made Yasha watch The _Fellowship of the Ring_ while they ate some truly amazing pizza from the diner next to their motel.

Yasha thought the movie was perhaps too long, but enjoyable if a little strange. He enjoyed the pizza far more than he thought he would when Clint had excitedly talked about getting it.

The following day they hadn't even made it to lunch time before Clint decided to stop for the day. The mountains around them were beautiful in the early summer and, as Clint explained it, getting a little sunshine and exercise was good for the soul.

Yasha wasn't entirely sure about having a soul, but he had to admit that an afternoon spent hiking and canoeing down a river had at least left him feeling tired in a pleasant way. It was a sensation he wasn't quite sure what to make of, but one Clint had insisted meant they were “doing things right”.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint awoke in the middle of the night gasping for breath – this wasn't an entirely unknown occurrence since he and 'rip you from your sleep nightmares were old friends – but the fact that there were hands around his throat was new. Cold metal and hot flesh made for a strange contrast,and he forced his eyes open to see Yasha's face above him. Only, it wasn't Yasha – it was the Soldier again, devoid of all emotion. Yasha had checked out. What the hell had happened?

“Ya-Yash...YASHA!” Clint struggled to say, hands scrabbling for purchase against the grip on his neck, body twisting to and fro to maybe buck the Soldier off, or at least mess up his balance.

“Yasha please – it's Clint.” He slapped the flesh and blood arm. “Yasha...” He balled one hand into a fist and circled the other around it, beating forcefully on the Soldier's arms, trying to dislodge his grip. By now, Clint's vision was graying out and he was left with no choice. He gathered the remainder of his strength and drove hard against the spot above the Soldier’s sternum, digging in with his fingers. The Soldier made a startled noise and Clint struck again in the same spot, able to roll his shoulders and get more purchase, finally causing the Soldier to loosen his grip. Clint then bashed his arms away and pulled his legs up enough to be able to kick the Soldier off of him and off the bed entirely. Clint assumed the best fighting crouch he could, until he was sure the Soldier wasn't going to move towards him again. He finally slumped over allowing the coughing to fully take over his body.

Fuck but that had been close.

His eyes were watering like mad and he was still coughing, but he managed to flip on the lights and grab the gun from the side table, leveling it at the still form of the Soldier.

Erratic. Unstable. Dangerous.

Maybe what this “organization” was doing really did have a purpose. Maybe this guy was a mad dog barely under anyone's control.

And then he recalled the confused looks the Soldier had shown him at doing even the most simple things. The idea of having a family, of having a name. How lovely his smile was proving to be – because he had smiled a few times over the past two days. And how much Clint had enjoyed his laugh the first time he’d heard it, even if it had cost him a cup of coffee, dropped in surprise at the sound.

No no. What the fuck was he thinking? The Soldier had saved Clint when he'd tried to kill himself. He'd been showing emotions – real human emotions - more and more.

“The fuck dude?” Clint meant to mutter, but what little came out was more of a croak and hurt like a son of a bitch. He poked the Soldier's thigh with his bare toes. The Soldier groaned and raised his hand to touch where Clint had hit him, and Clint took a step back, shaking his head to clear the residual fog from it, getting a more comfortable grip on the gun as the Soldier stirred.

“What?” It was the Soldier's turn to cough and Clint's body felt like now would be a great time to get a few more coughs in too. The Soldier blinked at the sound, and raised himself to sit.

“Stay right there,” Clint croaked.

“Clint?” The Soldier blinked again and shook his head, his eyes focusing on Clint. Clint was able to see as everything registered to the Soldier. The gun in Clint's hand. The defensive posture. The bruises already forming on his neck. “Oh God...” Horror spread like wildfire across his now-expressive features, and Clint almost felt shitty for taking a step back when the Soldier's hand twitched like he wanted to reach towards him.

“Please don't move.” And whispering seemed to work better, though it still hurt like hell – both on his throat and in his heart, because the Soldier seemed to collapse back into himself at Clint's words.

“I warned you,” the Soldier said, miserable, looking at the carpet. “There is a reason they keep me caged or on ice. I'm not safe.”

“You did warn me,” Clint agreed, hating how the Soldier winced at the sound of his wrecked voice. “Never was great at doing what I was told though.” And up until just now they'd been doing pretty good.

“Dealing with me isn't like touching a stove or licking a frozen pole in winter.” The Soldier bit out. “I'll kill you, Clint.”

“Death wish – remember?” And boy that was the wrong thing to say.

“Don't fucking joke about that.” Those beautiful, expressive eyes were so very angry when they flashed up to meet Clint's. “Don't you dare choose suicide by Winter Soldier.”

“I'm not,” Clint replied. God, he was so fucking tired. Not enough sleep and too many emotions. He'd been going for too long. “You said you wouldn't kill me, remember? I'm not your Mission. Capital 'm' because it's important.”

“This isn't a fucking joke, Clint.”

“Not laughing.”Clint spat back. Did the Soldier realize he was being very human in this moment? Angry and annoyed at Clint like so many people before him. What the hell did it say about Clint that he almost enjoyed that anger? Craved the annoyance? If he was good for anything it was bringing out negative emotions in others. Like a little voice in his head was saying: Ha! I made you feel something. Any reaction, even a negative one, was better than no reaction, right? Because a negative reaction meant there was a reason for why he would be left in the dust.

“We're in this together, remember? You save me, I save you. No take-backs now.” His croak sounded so very tired. If Clint had anything left of a soul, he was pretty sure it was beyond weary at this point.

“I don't think there is enough of a person inside of me for anyone to save.”

Clint was certain that if his throat was in better shape he would've made a wounded noise. Because what the fuck? This was a man that had laughed – fucking laughed in delight – at the antics of some _squirrels_ the day before.

Fuck that noise. If anyone was beyond saving in this, it was Clint. He lowered himself to the floor, edging closer and closer to the Soldier, expression determined.

“Stop that. You need to stay away.” The Soldier’s eyes were fixed on Clint's throat, his limbs pulling in towards his body; skittish, like a wild animal.

“I think, if you really believed there wasn't enough of a person inside of you, you wouldn't be telling me to stay away. You wouldn't be worried about me at all.” And, well, it wasn't like Clint was in the most healthy of mental states at the moment either. “I think, if you believed that, you'd put two rounds in me and be done with it.”

With a calmness pulled from who-the-fuck-knew-where, Clint grabbed the Soldier's hand and wrapped it around the grip of the gun, barrel pressed against his forehead and edged his finger up to the trigger. “So go ahead.”

Between one blink and the next the Soldier had disassembled the gun, dropping the clip and the formerly chambered bullet to one side, and the twisted slag of the body of the gun itself, crushed by the strength in his metal hand, to the other. And, with an inhuman noise, sprung to his feet, pacing and shaking with – well, Clint couldn't quite tell. Rage? Terror? Another blink and he was back on the floor, another wounded noise issuing from his throat as his hands hovered centimeters from Clint's skin.

“Don't.” He sounded so small. “Please?” So broken. “I can't do this without you.” There were tears in his eyes.

“It's okay,” Clint replied, “It's okay.” It was like the floodgates had been opened, the Soldier's hands on his forehead, gently now against his neck – inspecting the damage. “M'okay,” he whispered as his chin was tilted up. “We're okay.”

Of course that's when the rushing in his ears and the full body shivers began. He felt like a marionette cut from his strings and he sagged against the Soldier – Yasha, he was Yasha again – with a bubble of laughter. “Adrenaline crash,” he muttered, coughing because of the laugh, and then coughing because of the surprised noise that tried to make it out of him when he was bodily hauled into Yasha's lap.

“My body runs hot, better than a shock blanket,” he said against Clint's head as he wrapped his arms around him. “I'm so sorry.” Clint fumbled an arm that felt like it was made of Jello out from between the two of them to pat at Yasha's side. It was the closest he could get to a pat on the back, trusting that Yasha would understand the sentiment without Clint trying to explain.

Yasha hadn't been lying when he said he ran hot – it was like curling up next to a cozy fire, and Clint felt his exhaustion not so much settle back in as run him over like a damned freight train. Probably for the best that he shouldn't talk right now, he'd slur his words and sound drunk as all hell.

Clint lost time somewhere along the way as he debated the merits of getting the hell out of there in the morning (did they really want to stay in this room another night after what had just happened?), and the safety of either of them driving (neither would have a decent night's rest and they were both emotionally raw – not a great combination behind the wheel); when he realized Yasha was saying something. He might have been talking to himself under his breath, and Clint tried to shift and pull away, only for the voice to stop, and Yasha's arms to hug him tighter.

Message received. When the super-powered soldier imprinting on you like a duckling didn't want you to move, you didn't move. Eventually Yasha's arms loosened and Clint was able to scoot away, a brief shiver going down his spine at the temperature change. Now they could look each other in the face again. Tear tracks had dried on Yasha's face, and Clint had to tamp down on the urge to wash them away for him.

“I remembered something,” Yasha said. “I think, I think I had a dream but it was a memory?” He spoke carefully, his eyes going a little distant as he sank into himself. “I was a sergeant when the accident happened to me. A sergeant in...the Army?” His brows pinched together. “I fell. I lost my arm and hurt my head when I fell.”

Yasha tilted his head to the side, as if perhaps something else would shake loose. “‘The procedure has already begun, Sergeant.’” His voice changed as he spoke and it took a second for Clint to figure out he'd been quoting someone from his dream-memory. “The pain from it all...” Yasha's eyes were confused again – scared even. “I can't hear my name, or what else was said, but it made me angry, and with my new arm I am stronger. I can lash out. My brain hasn't been fixed yet, I'm more erratic. And then there was ice and darkness.”

And that...Yasha was recalling how he became the Winter Soldier. How he was made the Soldier against his will. Clint felt like was going to be sick again but did his best to ignore the urge as he helped Yasha to his feet and they did a little cursory cleanup.

 

~~

 

Later, as they were both staring at the ceiling and not talking about the fact they weren’t sleeping, Clint's brain was going over what had happened that day that could have possibly triggered Yasha's dream. It hadn't been different from any other day they'd had so far. Winding their way through the mountains on tiny roads – which they were still saying was to avoid the possibility of a tail, but was really more because they could at this point. They didn't really have anyplace in particular to be. Eventually they looped back onto I-81 and made some progress south, passing several cities before crossing into North Carolina and ending up here. Nothing exciting on their stops. Yasha had seemed what Clint now recognized as his usual 'neutral' self all day.

Except that was wrong. He had reacted to something, now that he thought about it. Just after they'd merged back onto I-81, they'd gone past signs for a city.... Buchanan. Yasha had twitched, and Clint recalled looking over at him in concern. Asking if he'd seen something strange. A car with a familiar person inside. A car that had been somewhere else along their journey. Especially as he'd had another long hard look when they'd crossed a river just after the city. Yasha had settled down again miles down the road, shaking off whatever it was that had spooked him.

It was all Clint could do not to sit up in shock when the pieces fell into place.

The river had been the James River. Outside the city of Buchanan. James Buchanan – a pretty useless president from what Clint recalled from his limited schooling, but also the first and middle names of Captain America's best friend Bucky Barnes.

Barnes had fallen from a train. Everyone assumed him to have died, but it _had_ been after he'd been subjected to experiments in a Hydra POW camp.

_My body runs hot._

One of the hallmarks of the super soldier serum as it was understood was an increased metabolism – which led to an increased body temperature. A body that was harder to injure and bounced back more quickly from any injury sustained.

Could the Winter Soldier be Bucky Barnes?

 

~~|~~

 

Yasha was nursing another cup of coffee in the late morning the following day when the sound of the key in the lock made him tense. It was Clint, so he relaxed, but just barely, guilt replacing the nerves when he caught sight of the ugly bruising around his neck

“Got you some stuff,” Clint said cheerfully, placing his haul of plastic bags on the bed closest to the window. He muttered to himself as he re-sorted the bags, pulling an item out of one and setting it into another, then changing his mind and replacing it in the first bag.

Yasha, curiosity getting the better of him, rose and walked over to stand beside Clint. The bruising was more vivid than he remembered from that morning. His flesh and blood hand was poised next to Clint's neck before he actually realized it, though he stopped short of touching.

“It's okay.” Clint said, stopping what he was doing and tilting his head so that Yasha could touch if he wanted. And he did, brushing lightly against the fragile skin, feeling the steady beat of Clint's pulse, how his shoulder rose and fell when he breathed, the movement from swallowing.

He could almost make out the shapes of his fingers.

Yasha quickly pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, grateful that Clint said nothing else. They stood in silence for a few beats before Clint began rummaging through the bags again. Eventually it was his turn to clear his throat as he held one out to Yasha.

“In hindsight maybe I should have sprung for a gift bag. But, it's the thought that counts, right?”

Yasha accepted the bag and peered into it. He raised an eyebrow at Clint who shrugged, nodded, and gestured at the other bed. “You can dump it out on that one to get a better look.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Yasha did as he was told, upending the plastic bag and allowing two notebooks, various pens, highlighters, and some post-its to fall out.

“I thought, since you're getting some memories back, you might like to write them down? And well, why stop with just one notebook, you know? I didn't know your favorite color either...so...” He shrugged. “You could always use the second one for something else or whatever. Um. So. The pens – again, color preference – no idea - or maybe you could like use one for what you know is a memory and another for what you're not sure about? And while I don't know your favorite color, purple is mine, by the way and – who can pass up a purple pen? Not me.” Clint's grin was nothing but endearing. “As for the highlighters, well, they're so colorful and the same for the post-its – but like, bookmarking purposes maybe?”

Yasha didn't know what to say or how to feel.

“You hate it, don't you?”

“No. I really don't. It's...thoughtful.” He watched as Clint's expression went from a hint of worry to pleased in a second. “Thank you.” He felt a certain warmness at the fact that Clint was pleased that he’d liked the gifts, creating a pleasant feedback loop of good feelings.

“I also got this for you.” And inside that bag was a digital camera. Nothing fancy, just a solid little machine to take photos. Yasha tilted his head as he looked back at Clint, completely unsure what to say.

“So while you don't have your old memories, at least we can start making new ones. And, well, taking pictures while making those memories might help you keep them.” Clint's hand went to the back of his neck very briefly before it fell back to his side and he sort of shuffled in place, expression hopeful for some stupid reason.

“I'm not sure it's a good thing that I nearly killed you last night and you're buying me gifts today.” Yasha finally said, having to look away from Clint, how earnest his expression was. The pleasant feedback loop was becoming...not uncomfortable, but maybe a little too much? He wasn't entirely sure what to do with some of the feelings that were trying to express.

“What can I say, I'm just not wired like all the other kids. Someone tries to kill me, I try to make friends. Best part is – it works at least half the time.”

“I'm not going to ask about the other half of the time.”

“The stories are better with a few beers, I'll admit to that.”

“What’s in the other bags?” Yasha asked, fiddling with the camera briefly before setting it back down. 

“Batteries, snacks, the usual.”

“...scarves?” Yasha said, looking at the cloth sticking out of the bag and feeling something hot run through his body. Shame, he thought it must be. Embarrassment. Of course someone had noticed what he’d done to Clint.

“It’s really not what you think,” Clint said and he looked embarrassed. “I uh, I might have panicked and er...insinuated that I was into kinky sex with my boyfriend. That would be you, by the way.”

Yasha stared silently at Clint for a time, eventually opening and shutting his mouth a few times before finally getting out, “How - how do you panic and go to kinky sex?”

“A few people had given me looks and it only occurred to me after I had grabbed up some condoms that I could use the idea that you were saving me from an abusive ex rather than we enjoyed rough sex, as an excuse for the marks. The checkout girl then suggested getting the scarves and layering them with socks so we wouldn’t leave marks next time.”

“Where the hell did you go shopping?”

“A little shop just down the road!” Clint’s face was red now - he was embarrassed but not for the same reason as Yasha if he had to guess. “I mean I had to say something since it’s really not a good idea to drive when we’re both this tired so we’re gonna be here another day and I didn’t want anyone calling the cops on us.”

“It’s fine,” Yasha replied. Something new bubbling up inside him. Laughter as it turned out a moment later when he couldn’t stop himself and the sound just slipped out. He’d laughed the day before as well, though this time felt different. Who knew there were different types of laughter?

“Are you laughing at me?” Clint sounded outraged, but a little too much so. An affectation then.

“No,” Yasha replied, more laughter slipping through. 

“Well. The nerve of some people,” Clint scoffed. “He acts like he’s never accidentally implied sexual relations with a near stranger in the heat of the moment.” For some reason that made Yasha laugh even harder and this time Clint joined him.

 

~~

 

Later that day, as they were dozing lightly after a late lunch, Yasha recalled something that had him sitting up rather abruptly.

“Hmm? What’zat?” Clint said up next to him, seeming half asleep one second and fully alert the next. “Someone coming to the door?”

“No it’s - we’re fine, we’re safe, I just…” He swallowed. “I remembered something.” Interestingly, he felt Clint’s body coil a little more tightly.

“Oh?”

“Do you speak Russian at all?”

“Yeah - why?”

“There is a code...a shutdown code I suppose you could say. Something the handlers could use on me if I got out of control for whatever reason.”

“A shutdown code.” Clint’s voice sounded, flat, if Yasha was gauging things correctly.

“I am not entirely sure how it works, though I think it causes a surge of electricity via the arm and into my brain that renders me unconscious.”

“That’s…” Clint got up from the bed, took two steps away then returned. “That’s - they-” Yasha didn’t have words for the expression on his face. “They use your own arm against you?”

“It is a safety mechanism.” And Clint was making a distressed noise again, which caused him to cough with the damage to his throat. “I’m sorry these things bother you.”

“What they did to you is terrible and it hurts me, but it also bothers me that you aren’t upset about what they did to you either. That the shit they’ve put you through has made you feel like you’re not a person, and I’m sorry, but you are one, you are a wonderful person Yasha. You should feel upset about what was done to you.” 

Yasha wasn’t sure why Clint thought he was a person of any note, much less wonderful, especially when he tried to kill him the night before, but he let it slide. Clint was far more emotional than anyone Yasha could recall dealing with over the years. Which - maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe the Organization had kept people like Clint away from him because their care would make Yasha realize what was going on was wrong.

He shook it off as something to think about later. “Be that as it may, you should have the code - just in case.”

“I won’t use it.” Clint said, determined tilt to his chin.

“Clint…”

“I won’t”

“It’s a last resort option, okay? I don’t want to come to and find you dead.”

The anger and defiance was still in Clint’s body language but he nodded, a tiny jerk of his head.

“The code is: Deep freeze, Midnight, and Hare, as in rabbit.”

 

~~|~~

 

Despite having an okay day the second day in Asheville, things didn't get better from there. They didn't get worse, exactly, but – it was rough. Both men began to suffer from dreams more often whenever they managed a little sleep, which turned things around and made them want to avoid even trying to rest.

From Asheville they headed south and east to Savannah. Clint had been interested in checking out some of the barrier islands and the wildlife refuge, but, the lack of sleep – of quality sleep especially – made the both of them snappy, so they only stayed for the night before getting back in the car and heading west.

Eventually Clint came to the realization that they needed some sort of break. The both of them were becoming too strung out – they needed some place to stop for a few days or more. Someplace safe and quiet where no one would think to look for either of them.

The destination came to mind as they drove through Columbus, Georgia. It had been a long, long, time since Clint was in the circus and he trusted most of the people back then about as far as he could throw a Buick. But there had been a few decent if not outright good people. People who would understand his need for secrecy and not blink an eye when he mentioned he was officially dead.

With that in mind, he set the course for New Orleans.

 

~~|~~

 

“Hi, how can I help you?” A pretty woman at a small desk asked as Clint and Yasha entered the main house.

“Hi, uh, strange question – didn't this place used to be called something else? La Belle en Rouge?”

“Yes, that was the name under Mr. Cabrera's ownership. We changed to Rising Sun a few years ago.”

“Antonio Cabrera?”

“Yes.”

“Do you happen to know why he sold? Did something happen to him?”

“The last I heard he was doing fine. Got himself a job on one of the riverboats doing tours. He's one heck of a storyteller so it was a good alternative. Did his best, but couldn't quite recover after Katrina. This place was in bank limbo for about a year until the current owners purchased it.

“Well shit,” Clint had a brief panicked look. “I mean crap.” The woman, Carmen according to her name tag, laughed. “That's too bad. He always talked about having a place here. Sad it didn't last him into retirement.”

“You knew Mr. Cabrera?”

“A long time ago. Before he moved here.”

“Now, no offense sir, but you don't look old enough to have known him before his time here.”

Clint shifted ever so slightly to lean his hip against the desk. “I'll take that as a compliment.” His smile changed slightly and Yasha realized with a jolt that he was flirting with the woman.

Huh.

“Now I worked my way from housekeeping to the front desk while Mr. Cabrera ran the place. Heard lots of tales. You didn't know him in the circus did you?”

Clint's manner of replying was to ask for permission, then reach behind her ear, barely brushing her curly hair and producing a quarter. He held up a finger as if to pause any reply, then spun the quarter around his finger and suddenly he was holding two. Then three as he did another spin.

“Alright, alright! I believe you!” Carmen laughed in delight. “That was his favorite trick.”

“I begged him for a month to teach it to me.”

“It took you a whole month huh?”

Yasha tilted his head slightly, because it seemed that Carmen was beginning to flirt back.

“I mean I was cute, but, there were limits to that power I guess.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Yasha tuned them out as they continued the flirty banter, deeming it inconsequential to the bigger picture, even though it made something inside him feel strangely unsettled. Perhaps that was just a side effect of the tension that had been between the two of them with the lack of sleep lately. Whatever it was, he had entrances to scan and escape routes to plan. Finding the best strategic points within this room just in case the inevitable happened and the Organization found them.

“I'm putting you gentlemen in the Garden Suite. It has a private entrance and a small private balcony, a full bedroom as well as a pull-out that is arguable more comfortable that some of the twin beds we have in a few of the the smaller rooms. You’ll also have access to the public garden located just outside your door.” She handed Clint their keys, their fingers sharing a lingering brush. “Please let me know if I can help you with anything else.” Her smile was warm and open as was Clint's responding one and Yasha did his best to copy the expression before Clint led him back out to the car to grab their luggage.

 

~~

 

You were in the circus?” Yasha asked as they entered the suite, both glancing around at defensive options within the space.

“You think I'd make that up?”

“No, not really.”

“The Amazing Hawkeye – at your service.” Clint stopped and struck up one of his finishing poses from way back when.

Really?” Yasha grinned. “I didn't think that was a viable career option nowadays.”

“Viable career option nowadays? What are you, ninety?” Clint's expression went a little funny.

“You know – I could be.” Yasha's shoulders rose and fell with the admission. He had no idea how long they kept him on ice between missions. Or how long they'd even had him before he'd become operational.

“I'm sure you could find a job as an ageless one armed strong man then, if you really wanted. Or market yourself as a cyborg in a freak show.” The joke hadn't been the best but Yasha gave Clint a small smile anyway to show him he appreciated the effort. He really hadn't meant it to be a question of what he could do in the world and he knew that Clint knew that.

“How do we want to handle the bed situation?” Yasha asked as they ascended to the second floor loft.

“I dunno – switch off maybe?” Clint was already rummaging through his bag. “I'd like to stick around for more than a handful of days anyway. Even number will play out perfectly and if it’s odd – draw straws or something? I've slept on worse than a sofa bed so I don't mind. I imagine it's the same for you, but, I think given what you've been through you deserve the nice bed.”

“And I think the fact that I tried to kill you means you should have it.”

“Then I guess we switch and draw straws if we have to, “ Clint said, grin looking a little forced. “And if it makes you feel better, I'll take the bed tonight then.”

“I suppose I can deal with that.” He still wasn't sure he liked the idea of being in one place for so long, but he had to admit they did need a break. The cracks were showing all too easily right now and while the number of people in the city gave him pause, it would make it easier to blend in. Literally get lost in the crowd.

 

~~

 

Clint had suggested they try and get a short nap in before searching out something for dinner and Yasha had been skeptical at first, but was surprised that he actually did manage a good hour or so of sleep.

“I mean, you said you were army, right? I'm pretty sure the big joke is that infantry can sleep anywhere at any time,” Clint said as they dug into bowls of gumbo. Grab and go had seemed a lot less intimidating than trying to brave the crowds so they were tucked in at the table on the deck just outside the door to their suite. If anyone else staying at the Inn was planning on enjoying the garden, they hadn't seen them yet, which suited the two of them just fine.

“That...that feels true, but I can't recall a joke about it. Perhaps that came after my time?” Clint nodded in encouragement as he always did when Yasha remembered something or seemed to be trying to connect some dots. It was...nice. “One thing I do know – I have never had this before. I would have remembered this.” And that made Clint grin in pleasure.

“Told you it was good. Antonio used to make it sometimes. It's one of those dishes you can stretch really far with very little. And no matter what happened, I always seemed to manage to get two bowls. Not sure how he swung that to be honest. Few times he had to sneak a second one to me depending on how Trick or Jacques were feeling.” The faint smile he was wearing faded some. “I guess even though I'm from Iowa, gumbo feels more like home than any other food. Probably because it was the only time I managed to feel full after eating.”

“You were young in the circus?”' Yasha asked and Clint seemed surprised at first but then shrugged. “The way Carmen was talking it seems like you would have to be. Unless you too have been on ice?” And that made Clint's smile hint at returning.

“Yeah. I was young. Ran away to join when I was, shit, eight? Barney was twelve?” He shook his head. “Long time ago. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but, you know.”

Yasha found himself curious for more information. Even if the details were frankly not the greatest, something about listening to Clint was soothing. Maybe because focusing on him, listening to him talk about his life, meant that Yasha wasn't struggling to recall new things about his own. Or piece together the bits of the puzzle he had into a cohesive picture.

“Was he like a father figure for you and ...Barney?”

“Antonio? Nah, not really.” And there was his self deprecating shrug again. “I mean he may have had a bigger soft spot for a coupla urchins than most of the others, but it wasn't like me an’ Barn – my brother – were like taken under his wing or anything. I was small and quick and cute enough that training me up on some tricks helped us pull in some additional coins – both legally and illegally if you catch my drift.”

“Pickpocket from a young age huh?” Yasha grinned. “Now you're just supporting those bad circus stereotypes.”

“Well, I never said Carson’s was one of the good ones.”

And Yasha knew it was meant to be a joke but he had to silently agree that they probably hadn't been on the up and up completely if they'd taken in two kids under the age of thirteen and used them as labor – though he wasn't sure how he knew that wasn't on the up and up. Because a part of him seemed to recall that being almost normal. Children working while young.

They finished the rest of their dinner in comfortable silence and then sat and enjoyed the evening air for a while before reaching a mutual agreement to turn in for the night.

Even with the brief nap earlier in the day, Yasha found himself falling into sleep with ease and if he dreamed, either good or bad, he couldn't quite recall it the next day.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint was unsurprised to find Yasha sitting on the balcony the following morning, coffee in hand. The croissants with spreads, ham, cheese, and two bowls of fruit were a bit of a surprise though, and he slid in at the table with a nod and then tilted his head.

“I know you can speak before coffee - I've seen you do it, but I'll humor you anyway,” Yasha replied and Clint barked out a laugh as he poured himself a cup from the carafe. “Carmen brought this over while you were in the shower. Said not to expect the delivery every day, but if we want to be sociable this is a selection of what's available every morning until nine in the main house.”

“That's good of her,” Clint said, nodding and pulling apart a flaky croissant. “Wonder if it's cool to grab and go if needed?”

“Guess we'll have to find out. If needed.”

 

~~

 

With no real plan or destination in mind they went for a walk after finishing breakfast. The heat and humidity were certainly present, but the weather lacked the oppression that would reign over July and August, and Clint realized with a start that it was almost June.

“I understand that the arm is partially for intimidation and all, but it's too bad they couldn't offer you a more covert option than just wearing long sleeves and a glove,” Clint said. Yasha had already said repeatedly he wasn't bothered by having to wear the sleeves and glove when out in public, but Clint had a hunch he wasn't being entirely honest. Especially not with how hot he ran.

“I don't think I really did much, if any, undercover work, so it was a moot point I suppose,” Yasha replied with a shrug.

The comfort of the Asset wasn't of the utmost concern of his handlers, Clint's mind supplied, and he felt a shiver down his spine. Loki hadn't cared that Clint hadn't eaten or slept during his time as his thrall. But that was different. Clint hadn't been strong enough to resist – Yasha (Bucky Barnes, the voice in his mind reminded him) – hadn't had a choice. He'd been violated in so many ways Clint hadn't.

“Can you tell me about Katrina? I know- It was a hurricane, but I don't have any details, and not much context to go on. It's frustrating-” Yasha stopped himself. This had happened a few times already, where he'd had some vague ideas of things that had happened in the wider world while he'd been on ice, and the organization hadn't bothered to update him on them. There were many things that hadn't been important enough for him to know to complete a mission for them.

And so Clint launched into the long and complicated story of Hurricane Katrina and the long reaching affects that were still being felt to that day.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint wasn't sure what time it was when he woke the second full day of their stay, and he rolled to the side, glanced around in confusion trying to find the source for his wakefulness. And there it was – someone on the balcony. He slid out of bed and snagged a bottle of water from the nightstand on his way out. Silently he offered it to Yasha as he leaned against the railing. Yasha nodded a silent thanks, and Clint hesitated only briefly before settling in at the table across from him. Yasha’s eyes looked haunted and he didn't seem to want to focus on anything in particular.

Nightmare then.

Clint rose and vanished back into the bedroom, snagging his hoodie and offering it upon his return. The shivering was more psychological than anything, he knew, but there was comfort to be found in an extra layer. “Just be careful not to rip it with that arm of yours,.” he said as Yasha draped it over his shoulders.

“Sorry I woke you,” Yasha eventually said, flesh hand toying with the hem of the tank top he was wearing.

“S'ok.” He didn't bring up how they'd been there before under worse circumstances, the bruises on his neck were still present after all, and there was no way Clint wanted to make Yasha feel worse. “Couldn't have been that sound asleep if movement woke me.” He let the silence envelop them a moment before asking, “You want to talk?” 

Yasha looked pained as he shook his head no, and Clint couldn't blame him. Talking about his problems and his feelings, and his feelings about his problems was one of his least favorite things to do.

“You want to walk?” 

Yasha appeared to have an internal debate about it, then nodded. 

“Need company?” Because Clint trusted him on his own, but he also knew that being alone sometimes meant your brain ended up eating itself alive. Yasha seemed to understand the same thing if the almost pathetically grateful look he gave with his nod was any indication.

Clint snagged a shirt and some shoes on the way through the bedroom, waved off Yasha's offer for the hoodie – he might as well keep it on for cover and comfort, and they went out the door. He kept a mental note on their location as Yasha led them on a circuitous route through both good and rough parts of the city, though they attracted no attention in the latter (probably for the best - it’s not like they couldn’t handle themselves in a fight, but maybe looking for one was not the sanest idea). Eventually they ended up at the river, well east of their starting point. Crescent Park was technically closed, it was roughly 3am he figured, but they walked through it along the river anyway, Clint keeping and eye and an ear out for any law enforcement.

“You up for some coffee and food and a smaller crowd of people?” Clint asked when they got near to the French Quarter.

“What's open this time of night?” And Clint grinned because that was as good a “yes” as any, and he gently steered Yasha towards Café Du Monde.

The place was as empty as it ever got, the late late night (or was it – early early morning?) crowd comprised of maybe around ten people. Clint left Yasha at a table at the edge of the patio and ordered them chicory coffee and beignets. The former met with a pleased noise at first sip and the latter earning a dubious look – and then Yasha took a bite. His eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a noise of appreciation that surprised the both of them.

“Amazing what can be done with a little dough and a lot of powdered sugar huh?”

“You might have to push me into the river after this,” Yasha agreed, though he was far less messy than Clint had expected, and Clint was glad he'd gotten a double order because he wasn't sure he was going to get more than one at the rate Yasha was wolfing them down. He slowed down after three, but Clint ordered another round of everything anyway.

Yasha didn't want to talk about what he'd dreamed about, which didn't surprise Clint all that much. It was all still too close and if he was starting to feel a little better right now why bring that back up? Which, Clint wasn't sure an actual qualified therapist would approve of – they all seemed to think talking about things was supposed to be helpful – but, sometimes just enjoying the small quiet moments was better.

Of course, he probably wasn't the best person to ask considering his whole suicidal streak that he wasn't sure was gone.

It was still night, though Clint would maybe classify it as whatever the morning version of twilight was (he looked it up later and was annoyed that it was just called pre-sunrise twilight – if there was dusk and dawn you'd think twilight would have a companion word) with the elevation and all the water surrounding the city the sun was starting to hint that it was drawing nearer to re-entering the sky, as they made their way back to the inn. Wordlessly, they stripped back down to their boxers and climbed into bed together. Sleep likely wouldn't return, not the least of which because of the coffee and sheer amount of sugar they'd each just consumed, but even if all they managed was a light doze at best it would be better than nothing. They could catch catnaps in the heat of the afternoon.

Just before Clint fell into a doze, he felt Yasha reach over and squeeze his hand in thanks and he was pretty sure he squeezed back in reply.

He began to stir again once the sun was fully up and only then realized Yasha was still holding his hand.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint and Yasha spent their days wandering and exploring the city. It was hard to avoid the more touristy areas but they did what they could, sticking to some quieter activities like sitting in City Park under the oak trees with Spanish Moss hanging down in dream-like curtains and just soaking in the sun and heat and letting the world float on past them.

Naps in the afternoons were common as well, between the sweltering heat and the very early morning coffee and beignet runs, and the downstairs sofa bed was the most coveted spot. The two of them coming up with an elaborate ritual of rock-paper-scissors and coin tosses to determine who got it.

One afternoon Clint was enjoying a bath in an effort to cool down when Yasha strolled in needing to use the bathroom. 

“Dude!” Clint said, flailing a little as he curled up inside the tub. “You could knock?”

“I’ve seen it all before anyway.” Yasha replied, noting absently how Clint turned his head and lowered his gaze as Yasha relieved himself. “Did you think I bathed you in your clothing after I rescued you?” he asked while washing his hands. 

“I….I didn’t really think about it.” Clint replied and huh - his face was a little flushed. Well - he was in the bath, perhaps that was why.

“So it bothers you to be naked in the bath in front of me, but not while you’re getting dressed?” Yasha stood at the bottom of the claw foot tub and kept his gaze at level with Clint’s face. Mostly anyway. It was difficult not to follow the track of water droplets as the fell from his hair and trickled down his chest to the water.

“Different situations. One I am expecting, the other I’m not.”

“Duly noted,” Yasha replied, giving Clint and nod and heading back down to the sofa, head full of new and strange thoughts such as how...good Clint looked in the tub now versus when he had first saved him.

 

~~|~~

 

“I'm not sure how I feel about that,” Yasha said as they were waiting for their dinner to arrive. He'd managed two good days in a row so they were braving the French Quarter and its tourists to try a restaurant recommended by another guest at the inn. Pastries and fruits were available to grab and take back to the rooms, but if one wanted eggs or crepes or other fare, they had to stick around the dining room and chance encounters with the other patrons.

That person had neglected to mention the place was smack dab next to a strip joint. Which would be somewhat easier to overlook if not for the very exuberant hype-man attempting to beckon everyone within a mile radius.

“Is it something you want to figure out how you feel about or are you okay just leaving that statement as a fact?' Clint asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Yasha figured he, too, had to have been feeling more on an even keel if he was drinking. He'd probably only have the one though. That was another thing he'd noticed about Clint and alcohol – he avoided it in bad moods and never had more than one at any given time.

“The proliferation of them in this area is...” He frowned.

“This is nothing on how things were back when there was an actual red light district,” Clint pointed out.

“Well, yes and no,” Yasha made a seesaw motion and ended up launching into a rather fascinating discussion of the trade. For someone who’d said he didn’t know what to think of things he sure had some Opinions (capital O coming through loud and clear in his tone) about the history and concept. 

“So – I'm guessing this means you don't want to go take a look, huh?” Yasha narrowed his eyes for only a split second before he realized that the tiny quirk of his lips meant Clint was trying to tease him. Bring things down and back to normal.

“Well, I don't want you to feel left out,” he replied. He could do teasing too.

“Why would I feel left out?”

“I assumed you were interested in men.” Given the torch Clint had carried for Phil, it was a logical conclusion.

“Well, sure, sometimes. But I'm also interested in women.”

“Both?”

“Both.”

“Huh.”

“I like what I like,” Clint replied with an expansive shrug. “It's not so much about the physical as it is the person themselves I guess. I mean, yeah, I can appreciate a looker in both sexes, sure. But that's not all I look for.” Another shrug. “Anyway, what about you? Have any thoughts on any of that? It's cool to not have thoughts, by the way. I mean, that's a thing too.”

Clint seemed very casual about it all. Almost too casual, but Yasha couldn't figure out any reason for him to be that way. Clint didn't know any more about who he was than he did himself. Maybe he just wanted to make sure he was supportive of whatever Yasha decided, to help ensure he didn't revert to any programming from the Soldier?

“It was never a part of my programming, that much I am sure about. I'm more a blunt weapon, not used for infiltration or seduction. And as for me personally...” Yasha trailed off. “Haven't really thought about it at all. Yet, anyway.” The last came as an afterthought.

“So, distaste for the ins and outs of the business aside, did you want to go maybe? See if anything catches your eye?” And that was an actual question, not more teasing.  
Yasha demurred with a shake of his head and a small smile that turned to a laugh as someone on the street below shouted up at Clint about having a ticket to the gun show. Clint was wearing a “sun's out guns out” tank top he'd purchased for a fiver from a street-side vendor. He'd offered it to Yasha, but had been disappointed when he'd told him that his metal arm did not, in fact, have any sort of gun or missile capability and then informed him that it didn't matter – they could both still wear it un-ironically given how their arms looked. Clint flexed for the guy and Yasha had to make an amendment to his earlier words, though he did not share them with Clint.

Because he wasn't sure how to mention that he had in fact seen something that he liked, that something had already caught his eye, because that something was Clint's arms.

 

~~|~~

 

Café Du Monde in the pre-sunrise twilight hour had become a habit during their stay, with the two of them heading over to it even when they had been sleeping soundly. There was something intoxicating about the coffee and beignets, something dream-like about consuming them with a handful of night owls and the occasional drunks that managed to stumble over from Bourbon after the bars closed. An almost magical quality in the air as the city mostly slept around them.

Sadly routine and familiarity, even if comfortable, could be dangerous. The counter guys knew them by that point, had already started entering their usual order, and that was as good a sign as any that they should probably head out of the city soon, even if they hadn't planned on it.

There was powdered sugar on Clint's lips from the beignet he'd just finished and Yasha couldn't help staring. Clint tilted his head and asked “what” and Yasha gestured, but Clint still managed to miss it when he grabbed a napkin – which set Yasha laughing.

“Mr. 'I Can't Miss,' my ass,” he said through the giggles, which then set Clint off.

“It ain't like dusting crops boy,” Clint replied, making himself laugh even harder because Yasha didn't understand the reference and his confused face was seemingly the most hilarious thing Clint had ever seen.

Stubborn as all get out, the powdered sugar managed to remain through the fits of laughter and, without a second thought, Yasha reached out and passed his thumb over Clint's lips, wiping it away. It took a second to fully register - what he'd just done. How Clint's lips had felt under the roughness of his thumb. How he'd felt more than heard an intake of breath as he pulled away. Time felt as thick as the air at midday as they looked at each other.

“We should get some of this to take with us,” Yasha said, wiggling his coffee cup and breaking whatever spell had fallen over them.

“Yeah. Sure. Good idea.” And Clint was up and heading back up to the counter to buy a tin of Café Du Monde's finest to take on the road with them. By the time he returned, Yasha had finished his own beignets and had begun gathering up their plates and trash.

They went on as if nothing had happened.

 

~~|~~

 

He didn't know why, but, Yasha had felt a certain draw towards the National Museum of World War II from the moment he'd seen a sign for it early on in their stay. Now that they were about to head out again he felt the pull even more, and he didn't want to risk not going if it meant potentially helping him figuring out a new puzzle piece to his life and history. So, he slipped away while Clint had been in the shower, leaving a note to tell him that he would be back before noon and that he had a burner phone on him but that he wouldn't turn it on unless he had to.

It wasn't that he thought Clint might try to stop him if he told him where he was going; it had absolutely nothing to do with what had transpired the night before. This was just something he needed to do himself, even if he had no idea why that was so important.

There was a poster outside the line for tickets, advertising that they had a few items in their collection pertaining to Captain America and Yasha felt his hand begin to shake.

“Are you a veteran, hon?” The woman at the ticket window asked, startling him out of a reverie he hadn't noticed he'd even slipped into.

“I uh, I, I-” she glanced at his gloved left hand and then back up at his face.

“Don't worry about your card hon, I'll put you in under the discount.”

“Thanks,” he replied, face heating in embarrassment.

“Thank you for your service,” she replied smoothly and he felt his face stay warm because she was genuinely nice and caring and he – he had no idea what type of person he had actually been.

“There's a few nice cafes to take a break and have a snack if it all gets to be too much, okay hon?” She offered him a map and pointed to the cafes. “Pace yourself, okay?”

“Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am.” And he finally felt a little better at the kind smile she gave him and then he turned around and made his way into the exhibit halls.

 

~~

 

He made it maybe an hour before he stumbled out the door into the heat of the New Orleans late morning air, feeling sick and scared. Benches, benches, benches. Why the fuck didn't they have more benches around here? Tons of veterans were disabled in some way or just plain old. They needed them. He needed one. A sturdy looking tree would have to suffice and Yasha leaned heavily against it, trying to get his breathing under control. His hands were unsteady as he pulled the phone from his pocket and he cursed at the amount of time it took to power on.

 _Made a mistake. Pick up needed._ He texted.

 _Where R U?_ Clint replied, lightning fast.

_Magazine n Higgins_

_OMW_

then, _It'll be OK_

It felt like an impossible feat to even begin to hope that that was true because he was sure something was unraveling inside of him. Yasha was shivering by the time Clint arrived and he couldn't tell if it had taken an hour or ten minutes.

“I've got you, bud, I've got you. C'mon, c'mon...” Clint's steady hands were a blessing and the coolness of the car once he made it inside felt like heaven. “What do you want? What do you need?” If there was any panic in Clint's voice, Yasha couldn't find it.

“Just need to leave. Not be here. Someplace quiet.” He winced and swallowed heavily as an image flashed in his mind. “Not the mountains. Not camping.” He felt wetness on his face and was shocked to discover he was crying. “Someplace smaller. Quiet.”

“You got it.”

“Please.”

“I'm going to take care of you. It’s gonna be okay, Yasha, I promise.”

 

~~|~~

 

Clint drove west, sticking to the coast as best he could and tried to keep a cool head when all he really wanted to do was give into panic. What had happened back there? Had they stayed in the city too long? Maybe they should have stayed a few more days rather than just running like they were?

He also couldn't help but blame himself. He should have remembered that there was a museum dedicated to World War Two in the city. Phil had been on and on about it for the longest time. It was really just a ticking time bomb with Yasha. If passing a river and city that shared his name got a reaction, what would seeing exhibits and reading about the war he'd been in do to his mind?

Clint should have thought about that. Either made sure to steer him clear of it or maybe have gone with him. Should have done anything other than what he had done – which was nothing.

Eventually Clint picked a destination. Galveston, Texas. It was only a few more hours from where he'd stopped to gas up and buy snacks that he was too nervous to eat and Yasha too unresponsive to notice. It was on the water and, aside from the tourists, was a small enough city that there wouldn't be the same crush of bodies that there had been in New Orleans. It was also flat and about as far from the mountains and the trees Yasha had been adamant about avoiding. Hopefully that would help.

 

~~

 

Unfortunately, Clint's body was in no shape to run in panic and troubleshooting mode for prolonged periods of time again, not yet. And somewhere along the way between checking in and settling Yasha in one of the beds then grabbing their gear to bring into the motel...he'd sat down on the other bed for a moment and promptly passed out. He awoke with a start, glancing around wildly and noting that Yasha was no longer in his bed. A quick search proved he wasn't in the bathroom either. His shoes were still by the door and the shirt Clint had removed so he could sleep more comfortably was still draped over the chair.

There was no note left behind.

Which meant that the Winter Soldier was roaming around Galveston shirtless and barefoot.

Clint had a hunch that 'no shirt, no shoes - no service' would be the least of anyone's concerns if they came across Yasha (and his metal arm), and he dashed out the door, barely remembering to grab his own sandals in the process.

A storm had descended on Galveston while he'd been asleep. Nothing major, nothing tropical in nature, just a simple summer squall and that made Clint's life both easier and more difficult. Tracking was more difficult in the rain, but at least it meant Yasha would potentially encounter fewer people.

He covered the parking lot, their car was still there and he didn't think any other cars were missing. He’d just finished an initial visual sweep of the immediately surrounding area, when a flash of lightning caught his eye. Clint was just about to dismiss it as nothing more than an involuntary response, when another flash made him refocus. There was a flash of reflection from something in the shallows.

Metal arm!

Clint took off across the road and onto the beach, shirt plastered to his chest and feet struggling in the wet sand.

“Yasha!” he shouted, the wind whipping the sound back into his face. Okay. Okay. He had waded into the ocean. That was okay, right? Unless he'd maybe killed someone and was disposing of the body or something. “Yasha!”

Clint lost his sandals somewhere along the way, which was fine when he hit the water, wading out several feet until he drew closer to the Soldier. Yasha. He didn't know if he was back in Soldier mode or not. Another bolt of lightning flashed, bringing the jagged scar where metal met flesh on Yasha's back into grotesque relief.

“I remember.” It was almost lost in the sound of the rain and wind and the crashing of the waves.

“Yasha?” Clint repeated, stepping to the side but keeping out of arms’ reach. That arm might unbalance the Soldier if he was going to attack Clint in the water, but it wasn't like that was a huge advantage (if it even was one).

“I remember who I was now,” Yasha replied, turning to face Clint who had no words to describe the look on his face. Pain and ecstasy and longing and fear and more Clint couldn't comprehend.

“My name, was James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

“My name was James Buchanan Barnes.”

The admission hung in the air, almost a tangible thing, and Clint was surprised there hadn't been any Kill Bill sirens or at least a bolt of lightning or crack of thunder.

Yasha – Barnes, seemed different. More settled in his skin.

“I know.” And of course the lightning decided to strike at _that_ moment. “Or at least, I had a hunch.”

“How long?”

Clint had no idea if Barnes was angry with him or not. There wasn't much of an expression on his face. Nothing he could clearly make out in his voice . “We should head inside, you know.”

“How long have you had your hunch?” Barnes turned to face him head on, hair plastered to his face by the rain. Clint knew that he probably looked like a drowned rat soaked to the skin from the water and the rain but Barnes... Barnes looked good. Like he was someone important, which was a silly thing to think about someone standing in the water in the middle of a storm but there it was. He also somehow managed to look more attractive than he had when he was dry, and Clint felt like an asshole because that was a terrible thing to notice. To think. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Since Asheville.” He looked down to the water swirling over his knees. “I didn't- I wasn't completely certain about it, and I didn't want to do a search on the off chance your organization could flag it.” They'd gone to too much trouble making Barnes into a weapon, they had to be looking for him. Even to the point of investigating searches or sightings, like he was Elvis or something. “And then when I was positive, I figured-” He heard the water sloshing – Barnes was moving closer. “I figured you'd want to figure it out for yourself if you could.” Way to use your words, Barton.

“Would you have said anything if I hadn't?”

“I don't know.” Clint shrugged, feeling helpless. “I guess, maybe? If I felt it would do more good than bad.”

“And how would you have determined that?”

“Not a fucking clue,” Clint said. Somewhere along the way he’d closed his eyes. Maybe it would be easier if he didn't have to watch Barnes do whatever he was about to do. Except, what he was about to do was reach out and pull Clint in towards him for a hug.

“Thank you,” Barnes said before pulling away.

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Uh – anytime. Actually no, shit, wrong thing. I don't want either of us to do that brainwashing thing again.” Jesus freaking Christ why the hell was talking so damn hard all of the sudden? But Barnes let out a chuckle – a chuckle – at Clint's fumbling, so maybe it wasn't all so bad. And he followed Clint back to the motel without issue – even finding his sandals for him.

“So I know that thing is waterproof and all but probably should still give it and yourself a good rinse off in the shower.” Clint said as they squished back into their room. “Just leave the shorts and boxers on the tub edge – I'll grab you some-- Or, you know, leave them on the floor at the door, that's fine too,” Clint said as Barnes dropped his shorts and boxers and walked into the bathroom. He was not able to avert his eyes before getting an eyeful of Barnes's ass.

“Right. Okay then,” Clint muttered, removing his own dripping shirt and wringing it out in the outer vanity sink. His shorts followed, but in the name of propriety, he left on his own boxer briefs, despite the fact they too were soaked through, and grabbed a pair of boxers and a towel for Barnes.

“Left you a towel and boxers on the toilet,” he said as he did so, jumping when the curtain opened and – really?

“Would be faster if we shared you know,” Barnes said, straight-faced.

“I'm good, thanks,” Clint replied, very carefully keeping his eyes averted.

“S'matter Barton? Shy?” And the bastard looked smug as hell, laughter dancing in his blue eyes, and Clint realized he could probably get lost in them if he wasn't careful. Perhaps they were not that safe to look at after all.

“Oh go to hell, Barnes,” Clint rolled his own eyes, smiling despite his annoyance. “You already got your free show this week.”

“I suppose I can wait for the next one then.” The sigh Barnes let out as he closed the curtain was overly exaggerated and Clint laughed a little even though he wasn't entirely certain what was going on. Though he did suppose Barnes was known for having a rather wicked sense of humor, and Yasha had shown signs of it a few times the past few weeks, it was still a change. But at least it was a good one, Clint reasoned, hand briefly touching his throat.

Barnes winked at him when they traded spots, but seemed to have settled down by the time Clint got out of the shower and took a spot on the empty bed. “So.”

“Suppose you wanna know if I need to talk about it, huh?” Barnes asked, popping a Combo into his mouth. He gestured expansively at the array of snacks on his bed, and Clint leaned over to grab one. Even though it meant nearly toppling off of his own bed in his laziness.

“Leave anything in the machine?”

“Some suspicious looking chips and the Lifesavers that have probably been in there since the last time I knew my name was James.”

And okay then, he seemed to want to stride into this head on.

“So do you? Want to talk about it.” Clint toyed with his bag of pretzels but kept his eyes on Barnes.

“Honestly? I don't really know where to start.” Barnes pulled his legs in and crossed them, setting his bottle of water and snacks into the little 'v' of his lap. He chewed thoughtfully on another Combo. “It was Zola. Whatever he did to me after they captured us in Azzano. That's how I survived falling. Survived...everything that was done to me. What I was put through.”

Clint nodded in encouragement, which was about all he could think to do at the moment. Just – sit and support Barnes as he tried to work through the tumble of memories.

“I was found by the Soviets after the fall and...it's all still flashes. Images. Feelings. Pretty much the same thing for my life before – but... enough of that's come back to me that I know who I am now.”

Everything seemed to come in fits and spurts, Barnes rattling off a string of facts one moment and falling strangely silent then next, like he was trying to find the next thread before he could speak again.

“All that wiping did a number on me. I don't know if I'm ever going to remember everything.”

“Things you did as the Soldier?” Clint asked.

“That – some of that – was always kept. Basic skills, certain information and programming.”

“Do you remember the name of the Organization at all?” Barnes shook his head. “But the last few weeks – is that still remaining?” Wouldn't it be something if that had been pushed out of his head to make way for his original memories.

“Everything from when they defrosted me on April 27th for my New York mission up until right now. Which is why I have to say thank you again for everything you've done. You didn't have to. You could have left me in New York.” Barnes didn't say that it was because he, as the Soldier, would have stuck to programming and remained in the apartment that he would eventually have been found by the Organization again. He'd be right back where he started.

“You didn't have to catch me when I fell so – same.” Clint’s smile was small, self-deprecating, and he looked down at his own lap for a moment before clearing his throat. “Anyway – should probably write some stuff down in your memory book huh?”

“Are you sure you don't want to talk about what you nearly did when we met?”

“I mean, running into the ocean isn't that weird you know.” His gaze went to his lap again.

“Clint.”

It was strange to hear so much packed into that one syllable. Well. Not the hint of disappointment, or reproach, that he was used to. His name was meant for those emotions.

“Clint.” Softer this time and he heard the crackling of snack bags shifting together as Barnes moved off his bed. Felt his own dip under Barnes's bulk as he sat down. “Look at me.”

And he did. Clint was pretty powerless to resist Barnes anything – and when had that development occurred, he wondered. How did he always end up giving himself entirely to wayward assassins? Barnes eyes were so open, so honest, with a clarity Yasha's had only come into hailing distance of. How the fuck could anyone try to burn that out of him?

“What's there to talk about?” And, well, if Clint was ever good at anything it was being defiant.

“You tried to kill yourself by jumping off of a building, after working yourself to death didn't work first.”

“Technically I fell off of the building after passing out.” Barnes's lips pursed and Clint could hear the plates in his arm shift as he tensed. “Hey – you're the one that just found out you've basically been a POW for like seventy years. This should not be about me at all.”

“Well, I think we're going to have to make it about you for now.” And boy howdy was that ever a stubborn tilt to his chin. “If my trauma lets me pick the subject, that's the subject I want.”

“It's not really that big a deal.”

“Having a death wish – which you admitted to, by the way - is not that big a deal? What the hell, man? Have I finally found someone more self sacrificial than Stevie?” Clint laughed bitterly at that and Barnes narrowed his eyes.

“I'm nowhere near the same league as Steve Rogers. Not even close. I'd have to be a good person for that and that ain't happening.” Sure, he'd only met Rogers very briefly but he'd read enough about him, heard enough from Phil, to know that while he could be reckless the same as Clint, he was also a decent person. And Clint? Well, Clint had been on the path to maybe making up for shit he'd done but how much good had he really managed before he'd gone and dug himself an even deeper hole?

“Your first instinct upon learning that the Winter Soldier, arguably the most notorious assassin of the 20th Century, was a man being brainwashed wasn’t to leave him behind or to turn him in, but to take him on the run with you and try to save him.”

“You had no idea who I was, I could have been a murderer in my own right before the Organization found me. It would have made sense if I had been and you know it – and yet you wanted to help me. Tell me how that doesn't make you a good man?”

“Well I mean – if you had been a murderer anyway I would have just unleashed you upon the world without anything to keep you in check.” Barnes's sudden grip on his shoulder was surprisingly hard, nearly painful, and Clint growled. “What do you want me to say? Huh? So I'm trying to help you. Fine. Okay. But - I've killed people. I'm very good at killing people. I learned to pick pockets before I learned how to read properly. A common criminal from childhood onwards. I'm not a good person.”

“And how much of that was by choice?”

“What?”

“Did you wake up as a kid and want to be a criminal or were you forced to because of circumstances?”

“What the fuck.” Clint shook his head and finally batted Barnes's hand away. “You don't know a fucking thing about me Barnes.”

“I don't?” Barnes tilted his head. “Barton, Clinton Francis. Born in Waverly Iowa, June 18th 1977 to Harold and Edith Barton. Older brother Charles Bernard Barton.” His voice monotone, so much the Soldier Clint had first met. “Parents, both of whom were abusive, died in a car crash when you were five. You and Barney joined up with Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders where, under the tutelage of Jacques Dusquene and Buck Chisholm, you became a master archer and acrobat as well as a thief – until one day you tried to stop them and they left you for dead. The circus moved on and you had to make due somehow. Not too many options for a fifteen year old that aren't going back into the system so you became a mercenary. Racked up a very impressive series of official kills and more that were never confirmed. You also held to a code. Doing jobs almost exclusively that took out people with the most blood on their hands. Human traffickers.”

“You were on the Organization’s radar.”

Clint let out a breath in defeat because of course he was. That wasn't going to help him feel better so he wasn't sure why Barnes told him that.

“They were having a hard time figuring out if they should kill you or recruit you the last I overheard. Your skill made you valuable, but that altruistic streak of yours gave them pause.”

Hot shame washed over Clint as he listened to Barnes rattle off facts about his life. A cliffs notes version of it all. The Worst Hits album, if you would. Because yeah, he took out some bad people. But he did so on the behest of some people that were just as bad, or possibly worse. Killed others that maybe hadn't been up to the standard he preferred to keep to because times were lean and a man needed to eat.

“That sounds to me like a man trying his best to stick to a moral code.” He heard Barnes say.

God he was wrong. So so very wrong.

“Eventually you joined Shield – where you could use your skills to make a real difference.”

“Government sanctioned killing is still killing.” He'd done things other than kill, but then again wasn't all that information gathering in an effort to kill someone, somewhere? Was it okay if he was training other agents to kill? How much of the blood they had shed was on his hands?

“I would agree, but if you didn't believe in what they'd offered you wouldn't have joined.”

“It was that or jail.”

“Both a form of penance – but you can't tell me you chose Shield over prison on a whim. You chose the option that would help you to try and make amends.”

“And fat lotta good that did in the end. Soon as a mad god waltzed in I fell right into his clutches. Killed a lot of good people. Friends and coworkers. I nearly took down the Helicarrier and the hundreds of agents on it with just three arrows.” 

“Because he controlled your mind.”

“Because I wasn't strong enough to stop him!” The last note of Clint's voice seemed to hang in the air forever and Clint glanced down, embarrassed.

“So, do you feel like I'm at fault for not being able to stop the Organization from how they controlled me?” Barnes’s voice, calm and quiet, drew Clint's gaze back up.

“Of course not.” The two of them were leagues apart in his mind. “You had to endure decades of abuse and brainwashing. You're a POW.”

“And you had your mind taken over by someone who, by your own admission, was a God – a being that had power akin to a God anyway - power beyond human comprehension. Do you blame anyone else for being taken over by him?”

“No but that... They were-”

“What? Better people than you? Weaker? Stronger?”

“I can't.”

“Are they responsible for any of the deaths they caused?”

Silence.

“Am I responsible for any deaths I caused?

“The deaths by the Winter Soldier aren't your fault. It wasn't you. The real you.”

“I know. But I still did them, and I have to live with that.” He caught Clint in with a steady look. “And you're going to have to live with the fact that the deaths you caused while under...”

“Loki.”

“Loki's control were not your fault either – even if you did them.”

Clint closed his eyes, jaw clenched. He didn't want to hear this. Didn't want to listen to it. Reason didn't have a place here. Well – he wasn't ready to listen to reason at least, even if it maybe had a place there. He certainly wasn't ready to admit that Barnes had a point.

“You can't possibly be that well adjusted right now. You really can't,” he said, eyes opening but remaining focused on the bed.

“I guess I'm having a particularly lucid moment,” Barnes replied. “I can admit that. Just like I can admit that I can't promise I'm going to be like this tomorrow or the next day or the next. Recovery's a bitch like that, even without someone going in and rearranging your brain.”

_Have you ever had someone take your brain and play?_

“You shouldn't be worrying about me,” Clint shook his head.

“Bullshit.”

Clint finally looked Barnes in the eye again, surprised at the strength he'd packed into that word.

“I save you – you save me. Remember? That wasn't an empty promise on my part. Even if I wasn't fully me at the time.”

“You and me against the world huh?” Clint laughed, but it was dry and without any humor.

“Well, my enemy was home grown on this planet. Yours was an alien, so I guess it's more you and me against the universe.”

Clint laughed at that, real and true and teary all of the sudden because the wires were so crossed in his head that when he did feel things other than numbness he didn't react like a normal person, but feeling a little more like himself.

“You're one stubborn bastard, you know that Barnes?” Man – the comics he'd read as a kid and the books he'd borrowed from Phil hadn't prepared him at all for the reality of Bucky Barnes.

“One – don't you dare talk about my momma like that.” He smiled to show Clint he was teasing and hadn't truly taken offense. “And two – call me Bucky.”

 

~~

 

After the high emotions of the day and majority of the night, neither of them were expecting to get much sleep, so they were equally surprised to find themselves waking up in a tangle on Clint's bed after having passed out at some point during the witching hours of the morning.

After inhaling a truly impressively sized breakfast, they walked out to the end of one of the jetties with to-go cups of coffee and settled in, letting the waves crash around them.

“We gonna talk anymore about last night or do we bottle up our emotions like men?” Clint asked eventually, enjoying the bark of laughter Bucky gave in reply.

“Eh – I think we can let it be for a little while. No bottling up, but, let things heal a bit before we pour more salt on them huh?”

“Well, when you put it that way it sounds like so much fun. Grab some lemon juice too while we're at it.” They shared smiles and Clint closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his skin and the sound of the waves soothe something inside of him.

“How long do you suppose we can linger here?” Bucky asked. Clint sighed and opened his eyes – squinting against the glare that managed to sneak around his sunglasses.

“Can linger – entirely longer than is safe. Should linger...” He shrugged. “Three or four days at most, maybe? I dunno.” He hadn't had that much of a plan when he'd chosen Galveston to be honest. It just happened to fit the broad criteria of not so large that crowds would be terrible but not so small that they'd stick out like sore thumbs. It had been convenient.

“I think I'd like it to be four days if we could.” Bucky replied. “The long sleeves suck, but the water...” Clint glanced over at him and nodded. There really was something soothing about the water.

They could do four.

 

~~

 

Where Café Du Monde had become their late night sanctuary, the jetties into the Gulf became their daily haven in Galveston. Bucky picked his way out to the end of the jetty, the spray of the waves and the slickness of the stones not bothering him in the slightest. He paused maybe twenty feet away to watch Clint from behind. He was perched on the edge, barely out of the path of the water if Bucky had to guess.

Part of him had to wonder if this was just normal Barton behavior or if it was a manifestation of his suicidal ideation. If it were anyone else he'd be worried for his safety. And given Clint's mental state he maybe should have worried – but he didn't – he knew his balance was good.

He did wish he'd been more himself earlier, maybe then he'd have a better idea on how to help Clint right now. It finally made sense though, why he'd rescued him back in New York. Because the part of him that had still been Bucky, buried deep inside the Soldier, had recognized a little bit of Steve in Clint. The stubborn push to help others no matter the cost to himself.

Well. He supposed that was enough to go on for now.

“You should take your shirt off,” he said coming to a stop next to Clint.

“You're just not going to be happy until I'm naked are you?”

“Nope!” Bucky grinned, tone both cheerful and suggestive. Teasing Clint like this was great fun, almost natural to him in its ease. And Clint was an excellent partner for it, giving it as good as he got.

He waggled a tube of sunscreen in front of Clint's face. “Should put more of this on.” Clint raised a brow. “Hey – you get a sunburn when you could have avoided it, I'm not giving you any sympathy and don't expect any help putting aloe on.”

Clint narrowed his eyes then nodded. “You have a point.” He pulled his shirt off and settled it under his thigh so it couldn't make a break for it, then made gimme fingers at Bucky for the tube.

“Hang on – lemme get your back first.” He squirted a generous amount into his hand, took a glance around then shucked the glove from his metal hand.

“That thing certified for this?” Clint joked, holding still for once – his usual twitching and fidgeting nowhere to be seen.

“It'll be fine. Even a comfortable temperature for you.” Bucky joked, enjoying the light snort of air Clint gave at that. Bucky was silent at first as he spread the lotion over Clint's back, starting at his shoulders. Rather nice shoulders, he amended, then wondered why he'd noted it.

“Cut's look like they've healed up well,” he murmured, passing a finger over the young scar from one of them. “How'd you get those anyway? If it's okay to ask.” They'd been in a deep enough state of infection that they had to have come during Clint's time under Loki's control – or just after it - which was still a tender subject.

“Crashed through the window of a high rise near the Met Life Center.”

“Explains the ankle too then.”

“Yup.” And when Clint said nothing else, Bucky thought maybe that was the end of it as he rubbed lotion into Clint’s lower back. “Wasn't sure that move was going to work in all honesty.” Clint's voice was quiet, almost lost in the waves. “I'd run out of arrows actually, but one was in the body of a Chitauri on the roof with me. I'd done enough damage by that point that they finally set a squad on me. Grabbed the arrow, dialed in a grappling head, and made it off just before the fireball hit. Felt the heat of it though.” And Bucky could suddenly recall feeling the heat of a different fireball in Austria. “Luckily I hit with enough force that the window gave.”

“Scratching you in the process.”

“Some. I rolled and landed on my back – and my quiver.”

“Hence that awesome bruise you had.”

“Hence the bruise.” Clint agreed. Bucky had finished applying the sunscreen by that point, but kept one hand resting at the join of his shoulder and neck, the other on the dip of his waist. He was unwilling to ask to do more, but also unable to pull away fully. Touching Clint was clearly become A Thing that he should probably figure out and deal with.

“Anyway, the awkward landing was part of it? Most of it? Lying on glass on the floor certainly didn't help anyway and I might have lost a little time too – I dunno.” He shifted and gave a little nod indicating for Bucky to continue. He began with the tops and balls of his shoulders then edged briefly down to his collarbone.

Clint didn't really need any on his chest, covered as it would be by the shirt and guarded some by his posture and position relative to the sun. Moreover, Bucky felt he really shouldn't be touching him there. Not even for something this innocent.

It was entirely possible that he should stop and figure that out as well.

“Tilt,” Bucky said softly, gently running his fingers on Clint's neck right under his jaw. He stuttered briefly over the bruise, but Clint's clear eyes met his in wordless support and he kept going. Feeling the steadiness of Clint's pulse strumming reassurances under his fingers. He applied sunscreen gently on Clint's ears, across his brow, down his cheeks. Skirting his lips with perhaps a moment’s thought given to what might happen if he touched them. How that might feel.

“Thanks.” Clint's voice sounded normal and Bucky didn’t at all feel disappointment at that. “I think I can get it from here.”

“Of course.” Bucky glanced down at the rocks and fought against clearing his throat, instead grabbing some anti-bac and wipes from his bag to clean his metal hand. By the time he was done, Clint was pulling his shirt back on and they sat together in comfortable silence.

“I was glad.”

“Hm?”

“When the line caught. When I landed okay. Hurt – but alive. I did feel...” He trailed off in thought. “I was glad that it worked. That I was still alive.” Clint was staring off into the middle distance as he spoke, but he smiled when Bucky linked their hands together.

 

~~

 

_His metal hand is wrapped securely around the throat of the man beneath him, no amount of struggle is going to move it this time. The familiar face is beginning to turn colors, clear blue eyes going wide with shock and betrayal. The Soldier watches dispassionately as his struggles become less and less until finally the man’s hands go lax and the body goes limp underneath him. He holds on for another minute to be certain the job is done before releasing him. For a reason he can't understand, he trails the tip of a finger over the now blue lips and has to stop himself from leaning down to kiss them._

_Khoroshaya robata. Dobro pozhalovat', Soldat._

_He thinks he can hear a voice shouting at him._

_He thinks the voice might be his own._

 

Bucky surged awake, both hands clenched tightly into fists – dimly aware that he might have torn the sheets with his metal hand – and looked around with wild eyes for a moment.

He was in his own bed. There were no other people in the hotel room except for Clint. Clint!

He's off his bed and onto Clint's in seconds, his flesh hand pressing against Clint's throat searching for a pulse, his head pressed against Clint’s chest to feel it rise and fall with his breathing. Shifting up a little he could also feel his heart beating and it took him a long time just sitting there, feeling Clint living under his head and hand, before he was able to unclench and come down from the panic.

The release made him shiver and he sat up and slid off of Clint's bed. He hadn't woken up at all so far and with the immediate personal crisis averted, Bucky didn't want to disturb him. Not when he knew Clint needed his sleep. Bucky pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt and made his way outside and down their usual jetty to let the sound of the waves surround him.

Had there been a reason for the dream? Other than his baseline worry that he'd somehow revert to his programming and hurt Clint. Now that he remembered who he was though, what would trigger him like that? He felt, for lack of better phrasing, more stable now than he had when he was Yasha. He supposed it was possible he could glitch again, but he didn't think that was what the dream was about.

There was something he was missing.

Bucky wasn't sure how long he'd been outside trying to focus on the dream when heard Clint come up behind him and settle against him with a sleepy noise. “You could've stayed in the room.” He said quietly.

“Jus' wanta check n'you,” Clint slurred, rubbing his face sleepily against Bucky's shoulder and making his heart clench and jump into his throat simultaneously. How could he trust him so easily? Be so vulnerable when he'd just killed him in a dream? Of course Clint didn't know about the dream, but Bucky had tried to kill him before. And yet he still trusted him.

“Dream. Need to figure it out.” He replied in bemusement as Clint raised Bucky's arm to settle it onto his shoulders as he awkwardly tried to lean against his chest. “That can't be comfortable.”

“No. S'not.” And with that Clint lowered himself down so he was partially cradled in Bucky's lap.

“And that is?” He asked as Clint pulled his hand in to rest on his shoulder, giving it a brief pat.

“Mmhmm.”

“You are so strange,” Bucky replied, though a moment later he realized it fell on deaf ears because Clint had somehow fallen asleep again. Bucky sat quietly for a moment before raising his hand from Clint's shoulder to hover hesitantly over his neck. Eventually, he allow himself to rest it over his pulse again, letting the feel of it unwind more of the tension he'd been carrying.

Why had the dream made him kill Clint? Was that just part of his baseline concern of hurting people again with Clint the close and convenient face? Was it because he was coming to care for Clint and he didn't want that used against them?

 

~~

 

“I'm going to tell you something that's going to make you sad and angry again,” Bucky said the following morning as they finished up breakfast in their room. It had taken most of the night for him to get a better idea what the dream had been about and then how to broach the subject with Clint.

Clint closed his eyes briefly and took several deep calming breaths before fortifying with a large gulp of coffee and fixing Bucky with his sharp blue eyes. “Okay.”

“I know I told you about the fail safe code before,” he watched as Clint winced and nodded. “Well there is an activation one as well. I think, but I'm not sure, it works even without the chair to wipe me.”

Clint's jaw jumped a few times as he bit back who knew how many nasty things about the Organization.

“You need to know what to listen for,” Bucky reminded him.

“I know.” Clint bit out. “And I'm going to put an arrow in the throat of any fucker that tries to use them on you.”

That...that was almost heartwarming actually, and Bucky had a moment to wonder what his life was now that someone else offering to shoot a person in the throat made him feel warm inside.

“I don't think I can activate myself but who the fuck knows so – listen for the Russian of: Longing, Rusted, Furnace, Daybreak, Seventeen, Benign, Nine, Homecoming, One, Freight Car.” He felt nothing as he said the words which was a minor blessing. He'd been worried there was the possibility that they'd programmed him in multiple languages, or even that there was perhaps some sort of fail-safe if he said them in his own language, but thankfully they hadn't. Which made sense – he was, in a way, proprietary software.

“Those are some sick mother-fuckers,” Clint eventually said, blinking back tears of anger from the looks of it. “Permission to hug?”

“Clint-” Bucky sighed. “Permission granted.” He sighed into the clench, breathing deeply and enjoying the nearness of the other man. “Was this more for me or for you?” He questioned when Clint tightened his arms rather than letting go.

“Both?” Clint mumbled into his hair.

“Both is good,” Bucky agreed as they remained locked together in the hug for a good minute, maybe two.

When Clint finally let go and went to ease himself away, Bucky stopped him by resting his hands on Clint’s shoulders. “Hugs are always welcome – no need to ask.” Clint nodded, a little shy, and Bucky knew the feeling although he didn't admit that not only did he not mind Clint touching him, he enjoyed it. A lot.

 

~~|~~

 

They traded in the car on the edge of Houston. Switching plates was all well and good, but switching out color in addition to model would do wonders for helping them stay incognito. And with the extended stays in New Orleans and Galveston, Clint said he didn't want to take any chances that someone would identify them and the car to any potential pursuers.

The Texas landscape passed slowly, though Bucky knew that was partially a trick of the eye because of the sameness of everything and it lending a dreamlike quality to the air. Clint shook his head and took a sip of his coffee while Bucky blinked a few times and wondered if he'd somehow fallen asleep with his eyes open. Scanning the dial, they hadn't been able to find anything on the radio that either of them was particularly fond of, though they left it on quietly in the background so there at least wasn't dead silence. Talking was probably the best course, though Bucky couldn't think of any new history lessons he needed right then.

He did suppose they could talk about themselves some more, though that was a little like walking through a field of landmines.

“The way you talk sometimes...” Bucky trailed off and shifted in his seat to face Clint. “Were you in love with Phil?” He watched Clint's eyebrows raise in surprise, though his overall expression remained neutral. “Overstep?”

“No it's fine. It's...” The “s” became drawn out and faded away. There were tiny and complicated little movements, no more than twitches really, traversing Clint's face as he cycled through micro-expressions almost too quickly for Bucky to catch. “I don't – maybe?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I think maybe I was in love with the idea of him. Of what I thought a relationship between us would be? Some ideal or something.” Clint was quiet for a moment, sipping from his coffee, just long enough that Bucky thought that was the end of the discussion.

“My shrink said it could have been something to do with how messed up I am with father – slash – authority figures.” Bucky knew Clint's parents had been abusive, and even from the short version of his file one could infer that his Dusquene and Chisholm hadn't been kind either. Words didn't come easy to Bucky anymore – maybe someday they would again – so he settled for making a noise of understanding and empathy. “Nick and Phil were the first decent people I ever worked for.”

“Nick?”

“Fury. He's the one that recruited me. He was Deputy Director at the time, so it was a little below his pay grade but I guess he's always had a soft spot for misfits,” Clint allowed himself a small grin. “He took me out for lunch with one of his mentors, Former Director Margaret Carter, before giving me the full pitch.” Clint paused for a moment as if waiting to see if that fact would mean something to Bucky.

“Peggy?” Bucky sat up a little straighter. “Peggy was in charge of SHIELD? How about that.” Drop dead gorgeous, smart as a whip, and tough as nails – he'd always known Peggy had been something special. And sure, all the Howling Commandos had been at least a little skeptical at first – but that hadn't lasted more than a minute once they'd worked with her; and not at all just because Steve looked at her like she hung the moon.

“The SSR became SHIELD, Director Carter was one of the people that began it all. Was stuff like that not in your base knowledge?”

“Yes and no,” Bucky made a seesaw motion. “There are a lot of code names rather than real ones.”

“That's good.” And yeah, it was – Clint might not act like he wanted to go back to SHIELD, but he was clearly still trying to probe out how much information the Organization had on them.

“Though now I wonder if perhaps they wouldn't use her name with the Soldier because of our personal connection.”

“I guess it would depend on how certain they were in your programming.” Bucky nodded and chewed on his lip briefly.

“She's had a good life,” Clint said, correctly guessing what Bucky was hesitant to ask about. “Long career with the SSR and SHIELD, still time for kids too – has some grandkids now too.”

“Grandkids.” Bucky shook his head in amazement. “Damn.” He could picture it in his head – a gaggle of miniature Steves and Peggys climbing all over the place and getting into everything under the sun. Man – those kids would have been a handful. He would've loved to have seen it.

“I wonder how Stevie talked her into it. Not that I don't think Peg wanted them or anything but...” He chuckled to himself, picturing Steve as the one to take more of a desk job to better raise their kids while Peggy jetted around the world.

“Say – the Captain America that was in the battle with you – is he one of theirs?” Taking up his – well – probably grandfather's mantle? Had the serum done anything to Steve's kids? Or Steve himself for that matter because Clint had spoke of him like he'd met him more than a few times, like he knew him more than just a little. And Bucky was going to ask, it was all on the tip of his tongue, until he caught sight of the pained expression on Clint's face.

“Clint? What is it? What's wrong?”

“I thought you knew...” he glanced around them at the traffic, pulling into the right lane despite having to slow to do so. “God, I thought you knew.”

“Clint?” Worry was worming it's way up from Bucky's stomach as Clint pulled over to the side of the road.

“It _was_ Steve in the Battle of New York.”

“Really? But he's...” Bucky did some mental math. “He's almost 94! The serum?”

“Well yes, but... Schmidt had a weapon, okay weapons, these bombs set for a number of key cities, and he and Steve fought on a plane. It was damaged in the fight and,” Clint took a steadying breath. “Steve crashed it into the Arctic. Everyone searched but they couldn't find him...until a few months ago. Steve's been frozen for the last sixty-some years.”

“My God. I leave that idiot alone for two seconds and he fucking crashes a damn plane,” Bucky muttered, hand to his forehead. “He did it to save the world, didn't he?”

“...yeah?”

“Self-sacrificing jerk.”

“Oh, this is awkward,” Clint mumbled, though Bucky heard him easily enough.

“Is? He took a breath. “How was-is he? Any...”

“Side-effects?” Clint finished for him. Bucky nodded, grateful. “He's perfectly fine physically. No damage whatsoever from the ice.”

“You said physical – is he?” It wasn't the same thing – Steve wasn't being held by any person or group – just mother nature. Still – what if the freezing itself was part of the mental damage? What if he was like Bucky?

“Mentally he's okay. He's got all his memories. He says for him it's like he went to sleep in '45 and woke up in 2012.”

The breath Bucky let out was unsteady – his whole body felt a little unsteady if he was honest, and he nodded a few times as he gathered his thoughts. That was good – wasn't it? Having no concept of the time passing – being aware would quite possibly be enough to make a man, even one like Steve, a little mad.

“It was just yesterday for him.” Bucky said, slow and careful – because oh, oh that would be its own kind of torture – wouldn't it? “he's the same but everything – everyONE-”

“It's all completely different – they're all different, if not gone.”

And, well, the Commandos had all been a little older – he and Steve had been the youngest. “Shit.”

“For what it's worth, he's doing okay. He was set up with a therapist – we're still kinda shitty about mental health in a lot of ways but better than we used to be. And I'm not smart enough or anything, but I think the serum is helping a little with all of that? I dunno. I'd at least hope it would make sure all his chemicals are balanced and whatnot.”

Bucky nodded again, only partially listening to Clint talk about brain chemicals. It was hard to digest it all. To think about what it must have been like for Steve.

“He'll be thrilled to see you, you know. To find out you're alive.” Bucky noted with interest the fact that Clint said “alive” rather than “okay” and was grateful in a way for the distinction, though he wasn't quite sure he agreed. “He'll forgive you. He'll understand – well, not understand understand,” not the same way I do, was left unsaid. “But – you were a victim too. He'll get that.” And fuck if Clint wasn't one of the most perceptive people Bucky had ever met.

“Can say the same thing for you and your Natalia you know.” And there went Clint's jaw. The minute tightening broadcasting a 'no-go' discussion area. They could argue the concept all day and end up annoyed with each other – probably not the best idea while driving, though he supposed they could pull over again – though Bucky didn't really want to do that. Putting it off wasn't the healthiest option in the long run, but...

“I shot JFK.” Bucky announced as they passed an exit for Dallas.

Clint stiffened, then tilted his head n a quizzical manner, still staring straight ahead. “Awkward segue is awkward.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Also, what yourself.”

“I shot JFK.” Bucky repeated, calm at first but then a creeping dread shot through him as he fully realized what he'd said. And done. He’d killed a president.

“From the grassy knoll?”

“The wha- no! From the Dal-Tex Building.”

“Oswald was the fall guy.” Clint said, posture finally settling again.

“He was.” Bucky confirmed. The Organization had wanted to get rid of Kennedy and send a message. They knew the Soldier was the best way to do it, but given the circumstances they'd needed someone to set up and take the blame. Keep their greatest asset secret.

“And Ruby was the double blind. Jesus.” Clint's chuckle was both humorless and impressed. “That tied up in a neat little package.”

“Whatever happened to Ruby?” Bucky asked. “I went back on ice and I don't think anything ever came up again around me.”

“Died in prison I think?” Clint's shoulders rose and fell. “I know more than my share of random trivia about it – or what most people know as the truth anyway. Another handler of mine in SHIELD, Jasper, is a conspiracy theory nut so he always has all sorts of theories and things to say.”

“A conspiracy theorist in an intelligence organization.” Bucky deadpanned.

“It's some next level shit, let me tell you,” Clint said with a smile. “But Jasper's covers are always some of the best. “

 

~~|~~

 

They stopped in a small town in Oklahoma that night, and despite his concerns considering everything that had come up the day before, Bucky didn't have any nightmares or glitches. He'd slept well and woke in a good mood. When Clint commented on it as they waited for their breakfast at a local diner, he stuck his tongue out in reply. An immature but enjoyable reply – and it seemed to make Clint happy, if his little smile was anything to go on. Serious was all well and good, but Clint seemed to really thrive on the sillier things in life.

“So – any thoughts on where you want to go next?” Clint asked. “Could be cool to cut back over and follow the Mississippi north.”

And sure, that did sound like it could be interesting as Clint outlined all the little things he could think of to do and see along the river, but an idea was slowly growing in Bucky's head. Remembering more about Steve had then made him recall more of their conversations.

“Actually,” he cut Clint off mid sentence, “I think I want to go to the Grand Canyon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Of course the waitress took that moment to bring them their meals and they nodded their thanks to her and accepted refills on their coffees before she set off again. Bucky picked at his hash browns for a moment, watching as Clint dug in with gusto.

“I can remember that we were cold as hell in some shitty basement and Stevie gets this idea to help take all our minds off the cold, said we should talk about the things we wanted to do and see after the war. Dum Dum immediately talked about going to a pub and Steve was gonna give him shit when Morita pointed out that that was Dum Dum being serious.” He chuckled. “Dernier had a lady friend in Nice that he was looking forward to seeing, and Morita wanted to go fishing with his brother. Monty had a little girl that he was dying to get back to, and Gabe was going to visit his sister in DC.”

“When it got to me I bet everyone was thinking I was gonna say something about Brooklyn but I didn't. I mean sure, it woulda been nice to see the girls and grab a drink at Flannery's but...I dunno.” Bucky shrugged. He had missed his sisters something fierce, but something about being somewhere so terrible had made him hesitant to be near them right away. Maybe he'd been worried about some of the things that he'd seen and done somehow rubbing off of him and onto them.

Bucky didn't know if they were still alive now, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to approach them even if they were, for that very same reason. Maybe they were better off thinking he'd died honorably than knowing the truth about what he'd become.

Eventually Bucky realized he'd stopped talking, his mind having gone down that spiraling tangent. Clint was halfway done with his meal, but it didn't look like he was eating with any hurry now so that wasn't a good indicator of time. Bucky took a few bites of his own meal, just in case the waitress came back, and glanced up to see Clint give him an encouraging smile.

It took most of his omelet before he managed to find his words again. “All I could think about was being someplace warm. Someplace colorful. I mean, sometimes it felt like the only thing that was in color on the front was the blood. And these photochroms I'd seen just popped into my head – so I said the Grand Canyon. Stevie looked so surprised.” And Bucky managed a chuckle at the memory of the look on his face.

“We can do the Grand Canyon,” Clint said with a nod. “Maybe visit the Petrified Forest on the way?”

“We could camp maybe?” Bucky asked. “I mean – I've slept on enough uncomfortable surfaces for ten lifetimes and even crappy motel beds are a luxury I would rather keep, but-”

“Sleeping under the stars appeals?”

“Yeah.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

For a change of pace and owing to his good mood, Bucky got to drive that day. Clint got in a crack or two about him really needing a new license because his was long expired and Bucky returned the favor by pretending to have no idea where anything was “on these newfangled modern cars.” The scenery was much the same as the previous day as they crossed back into Texas on their way to New Mexico, but the music situation had improved immensely thanks to Clint pirating a slew of what he referred to as Classic Rock. Music hadn't been something the Winter Soldier noticed and Bucky had mentioned as such, leading Clint to take it upon himself to educate him on the evolution of music over the century.

They made it as far as Albuquerque before stopping for the evening, where Bucky found a pamphlet for the El Malpais National Monument while poking around the tourist information rack while Clint checked them in. They explored that the next day, hiking through lava tubes and taking in some impressive vistas, then opted to try out their new camping gear as well to give the area another go the following day, departing with just enough time to drive to a small town near the Petrified Forest where they planned on spending two days hiking and camping.

On their way to the campsite in the Petrified Forest they passed a pile of rocks marked with a sign “Conscience Rocks,” Which, after mentioning those had been bits of petrified wood illegally removed from the park and mailed back after the people had fallen under some sort of retribution curse, prompted Clint to share stories of things like Pele's Curse and the curses on various Pharaoh Tombs in Egypt. Bucky laughed but listened with interest, snapping a picture of the pile and making a mental note for how he wanted to label it in the future.

And changed up his mental note on the possibility of a souvenir.

 

~~

 

He almost never purchased anything, but Clint seemed to have a great affinity for gift shops. “Tchotchkes are the best,” he'd said and there was a moment of disconnect before he explained to Bucky that the term was used for trinkets nowadays and not to refer to girls.

The dinosaur paraphernalia caught Bucky's attention, in part because of the sheer amount of it, but also because it was all so much more than he'd been expecting. He very dimly recalled going to the museum (science museum the Steve in his head corrected because “the museum” was the MOMA to him) with Steve and little Rebecca once, ages and ages ago and marveling at the gigantic creatures.

Clint lingered at the collection of arrowheads made from the wood, but eventually moved on without grabbing one to buy. Probably thought he didn't deserve it or something stupid like that. Impulsively Bucky grabbed one and kept it carefully tucked under the book he'd selected until Clint peeled away from him in line to use the bathroom.

“This is probably silly but – do you have anything... nice I can put this in?” He asked the girl at the counter. “I don't need anything fancy, just, I want it to be a surprise.”

“A gift for your boyfriend? That's so sweet,” she replied and Bucky was startled enough by that assumption that he didn't really have a reply as she rummaged for a small box under the counter. “There you go.” She nestled the arrowhead into some tissue paper before putting the top on and securing the sides with an elastic ribbon. “I hope he likes it.”

“Me too,” he stuttered, feeling a strange warmth on his cheeks. Was he blushing? He nodded to her again and gathered his bag and exited the shop to find Clint waiting for him.

“If we don't stop for dinner we might be able to catch sunset at the South Rim, but it would be pushing it and I know it'll be crowded so...” Clint said as they fell into stride.

“I don't think we should skip dinner if we can help it, I've seen you when you get hangry.” Clint stopped in his tracks and looked at Bucky with shocked amusement.

“Did you just use the word hangry?”

“I'm a man of many linguistic skills.” Bucky was grateful Clint didn't seem to notice that he'd been blushing – maybe it wasn't visible? And what had they done to make the young woman think they were together like that?

“You've got a talented tongue huh?” Clint waggled his brows and Bucky let out a little huff of laughter. Was this flirting? Sure they teased the shit out of each other and made innuendos but...there wasn't actual intent behind it, was there?

“Wouldn't you like to find out?” He replied, perhaps slower than he might have done only fifteen minutes earlier, but Clint didn't seem to notice, reacting as he always did with a laugh and a companionable bump of their arms.

They had a late dinner in Flagstaff but pushed on to Tusayan before stopping for the evening. Clint had maps and papers spread out on the bed and was leaned over them with a notepad, his expression dead serious as if he was planning an op. It was – charming that he was so dedicated to absorbing everything he could so he could plan everything out. That he seemed to care so much about making this part of the trip as perfect as he could for Bucky.

When his mood was good and he allowed himself to think about seeing Steve again, Bucky was fairly certain that Steve might still love him almost as much as he used to, even when he found out what Bucky had done over the century.

He didn't really think anyone else would care for him like that or anything close to it – especially when they didn't have that connection to his life prior to being the Winter Soldier. Not for the first time he thanked any power that might exist and be listening that he'd found and saved Clint so that Clint could try and save him.

Bucky shifted a few of the pamphlets and books to the side so he could perch on the edge of Clint's bed – the movement catching his attention so he glanced up with interest.

“I uh – it's silly really but, I got you something?” Bucky cleared his throat and rolled his eyes at himself because really Barnes? There was no reason to be nervous about this. He pulled the box out of his pocket and placed it on the map on the bed between them at the same moment Clint said in a softly wondering tone:

“You did?”

“It's not much but...” _"I saw you looking at them and felt like you should have this."_ He wanted to, but couldn't, say.

Clint carefully slid the elastic off and opened the box, his smile going soft as he pulled out the arrowhead, fingers trailing over it reverently. “Thank you, Bucky. You didn't have to.”

“Friends do things for each other, right?” This wasn't – this wasn't part of the you save me – I save you pact – but it kind of was? Because Clint's hyper-focus on helping Bucky and making Bucky happy gave him purpose and, Bucky hoped, was helping him heal a little; but that didn't mean he shouldn't have nice things himself. Hell – at the very least this was like a reward for good behavior.

“I uh – I got you something too,” Clint said, hand going to scratch the back of his neck and Bucky felt something stir inside him – that was Clint's nervous tell. “It's silly, but, don't judge?” And from out of the drawstring pack he'd been wearing he pulled a stuffed dinosaur. An Anklyosaurus, if Bucky wasn't mistaken, and he tossed it over to Bucky faux-casual.

Bucky held the dinosaur for a moment, it was soft and squishy in the most comforting of ways. He wasn't sure he'd ever had a stuffed toy as a child – maybe a bear when he'd been very very young? - but he could certainly understand the appeal.

“I saw you looking at the dino stuff and I thought it would be easier to carry that one around? Also – you both have that armor thing going for you but you're kinda soft too? Which – fuck – you're not soft like you can't handle yourself, cause you can kick anyone's ass and probably could before the arm and all, and as a person especially with all the shit that's happened to you you're fucking stronger than anyone I know cause you're keeping going and and I'll shut up now. Sorry. Sorry.”

“Clint Barton you are a beautiful fucking disaster.”

“...thanks? I think?”

Bucky grinned and very nearly reached out to grab Clint by the back of the neck and...and... Press their foreheads together. Yes. That was what he had thought of doing. In his distraction, he actually did end up reaching out, but diverted his hand to grasp Clint by the shoulder instead.

“So you like it?”

“She's great.” Bucky let go of Clint and sat back, giving the dinosaur an experimental hug.

“She?” A smile began at the corner of Clint's mouth, replacing his confusion from earlier.

“Yes. She. I'm thinking of calling her Gertrude. Gertie for short.” He might as well run with the ridiculousness – especially if it helped in distracting Clint. And, if he were honest, distracting himself.

“Gertie? Okay...” Clint smiled at him then reached out to touch the arrowhead again.

Bucky pulled a knee up to rest his chin on it, loosely clutching Gertie against his chest. “You like it, right?”And it was strange how they both insisted the gifts were just silly little things but then they both craved the validation that they'd been well received. “I couldn't tell which one you were drawn to the most.”

“It's perfect,” Clint replied then chuckled. “Man – look at us. Neither of us willing to get something we want for ourselves, neither of us unable to turn off that watchful sniper mentality either. I thought for sure you were going to grab that Feathered Dinosaur book.”

“I'm surprised you didn't grab one of the bobbleheads for the car. I also don't know how you snuck Gertie out without me seeing. Tell me you didn't steal her.” If he had, maybe they could mail in some money?

“The register on the other end of the store,” Clint admitted. “I didn't actually have to use the bathroom at all.” They shared a smile again and sat quietly until eventually Clint held out his fist. “I save you – you save me.”

“I save you – you save me,” Bucky echoed, bumping their fists together.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint had warned him the night before that they were going to be getting up well before the sun and Bucky didn't have a problem with that. They packed a thermos of chicory coffee and a bag of powdered sugar donuts (a poor substitute for beignets but needs must) and were on their way. They saw more cars than Bucky had been expecting on their dark early morning drive, but Clint took a right right rather than follow them left towards the Visitor Center. They parked at an area where there were already a few cars gathered. With the headlights off it took a little while for his eyes to adjust, and even then the starlight didn't reveal much more than the canyon being a yawning chasm just beyond the railing.

“We've got a choice to make,” Clint opened, “We can stay here along the road, or we can hike out a short distance along two different trails for an even more scenic overlook.” He popped a mini donut into his mouth and chewed, perhaps hoping for a more dramatic effect. Bucky followed suit, chewing thoughtfully. There would be people no matter where the went – unless they stopped along a trail where no one happened to continue past them on their way somewhere else. He certainly didn't need to be alone, he just didn't want a large crowd if it could be helped, and an overlook along the road was much more likely to get people than the walking along a trail option.

“Let's head to one of the points.” Bucky decided.

They shared a few more donuts, but brought only the coffee and some water along with them as they walked in silence out to Yaki Point. There was a shuttle, but it wouldn't arrive for a while, and Bucky was glad to have the time to themselves. It was still dark when they arrived, all alone, and they carefully picked their way out to a good spot to settle in. They tucked themselves in together, Bucky wearing a hoodie against the chill, Clint wearing an additional jacket over his hoodie, even with leeching heat from Bucky.

A shuttle eventually arrived as the pre-dawn glow was beginning to illuminate the landscape, but it dropped off only another couple and they seemed happy enough to settle a distance from Clint and Bucky, no doubt also seeking the illusion of privacy. The canyon was becoming visible and Bucky couldn't quite believe his eyes. Time itself was spreading out before him as more and more of the rock layers became visible, and as the colors began to appear, he found he couldn't quite breathe.

Clint had shifted away from him, standing and stepping back, though Bucky was too enraptured by the view to turn to see what he was doing. The light of the sun was just starting to streak over the side of the canyon to the east. He returned moments later, settling in close to Bucky, shifting and muttering to him, “Sorry, just – hang on,” and then he was slipping his arms around Bucky from behind, his legs sliding forwards, Bucky cradled in the 'v' between them. “This okay?” he murmured so softly Bucky was barely able to make it out. He reached up with his metal hand and patted Clint's where they were linked around his midsection. It was perfect.

As dawn unfurled over the canyon Bucky found himself feeling so very small, just a speck in the history of the planet. It was strangely freeing to feel that way, insignificant. Like he wasn't a cog in the machine as the organization had made him to be. Like he could just vanish into the ether and live peacefully without a care in the world.

His hand still covered Clint's, and he gave it another squeeze, unsure how to properly express what he was feeling but needing to give Clint something for doing this for him. “Thank you.”

“This is just the start,” Clint said, close against Bucky's ear.

 

~~

 

Rather than take the road back to the car, they picked their way along a trail that skirted the canyon’s rim and Bucky had a hard time not stopping every few feet to take another picture. Whenever he did, Clint would stop and wait, small indulgent smile on his face, patient as a saint.

Once they made it back to the car they stopped briefly to procure a permit for camping for the next two nights, and then headed back to Tusayan to grab breakfast and check out of their hotel, then it was back to the canyon. They stopped at a few of the popular overlooks near the Visitor Center before descending into the canyon itself.

Bucky wasn't worried about his fitness – the knock-off serum he'd been given and the conditions he'd sometimes found himself in as the Soldier had long ago solidified the idea that his body could take just about anything.

Clint's injuries from weeks ago now had healed, but he wasn't in quite the shape he had been, not having been doing any real working out beyond the walking and hiking they'd done. Bucky couldn't help but fret just a little that Clint might be the one to overdo things. But he ate when they stopped and drank plenty of water. His breathing was as even as it could be with the exertion, and Bucky didn’t notice any signs of distress.

That evening, as Clint prepared dinner, Bucky went through the photos on his camera, looking to delete any accidental shots or copies of others that were too repetitive which… There were more than a few pictures where he'd caught Clint in a shot. He'd taken a photo of the view, or an animal, or plant and then...a shot of Clint within the same context. There was nothing strange about that – right? Just a picture of his friend trying to enjoy himself. Photos he could share in order to show Clint that there were things to enjoy.

Then he got to the pictures taken of the sunrise. There weren't many, and Clint had snapped almost all of them, but what caught Bucky's attention was one of him sitting alone watching the sunrise. And he wasn't certain what to think about the way Clint had caught him, how he'd managed to frame the shot. Bucky got a strange feeling thinking that Clint had wanted to have a picture of him enjoying that moment. It was nice. He looked…nice. But why would Clint think he needed a shot of that?

 

~~

 

They covered more ground the following day, hiking with no specific destination in mind, stopping often just to take everything in.

“Is it everything you’d hoped for so far?” Clint asked when they'd stopped for an afternoon snack. His nose was looking just a little pink, and Bucky scowled and grabbed the sunblock from his belt. He applied a dab to the tip of Clint's nose, enjoying immensely how Clint’s face went from confused to amused in a second.

“You're welcome,” he said, pausing for a moment to apply more to his own face. “And I think... I don't know what I’d hoped for, not really, but this?” He took a swallow from his canteen, then gestured with it to encompass the panorama around them. “This has been more than I could have ever imagined I would get...after everything.”

“Been a lot of places myself, but yeah, I know what you mean.” Clint took a long look around them. “This is something else. Thanks for wanting to come here.”

“Thanks for making it happen.”

 

~~

 

They'd pulled their sleeping mats and bags out of the tent to better take in the stars, the clarity here in the wild like nothing Bucky could ever remember, even from the patchwork of his childhood memories.

At some point Bucky stopped looking up at the stars and turned to look at Clint, studying his profile with a degree of concentration he hadn't allowed himself before.

“What?” Clint asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, lips turning up in a soft smile. _“You're beautiful,”_ he wanted to say but didn't – not because he was nervous or scared or didn't want to admit it (because he very much realized now that he found Clint attractive), but because he knew Clint would laugh it off with a joke about the darkness being the best lighting for him.

And then Bucky found himself moving, propping himself up on an arm so that he was hovering over Clint, their faces only inches apart. He breathed slowly, not quite sure what his next move was. Finally he decided to lower some of his weight onto Clint's chest, and Clint simply blinked – watching as if he too was waiting to see what Bucky would do next.

Bucky shifted to take in a deep breath, his nose brushing Clint's jawline. Clint smelled of canyon dust and sunlight, the tang of sweat and sunscreen beneath it not offensive, but comforting. Bucky shifted again, lips barely ghosting over Clint's cheek until they bumped into his nose. For some absurd reason, Bucky rubbed their noses together, feeling more than seeing Clint's resulting smile. Bucky pushed himself up briefly so he could drift the fingers of his flesh hand across Clint's brow, circle down his cheek, watching him blink quickly and lick his lips.

And then Bucky leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was quick, just a simple push barely worthy of being called a kiss. He didn’t pull back very far though; his breath and lips brushed against Clint's as their foreheads rested against each other. Another quick press and retreat, and then another. Bucky rose up again and ran his thumb over Clint's bottom lip. He wasn't pulling Bucky in, but he wasn't pushing him away either. Whatever was going on, Bucky was in charge of it.

He leaned back in for another brief kiss, pulling away only long enough to shift the angle and press in again, and finally, _finally_ , Clint sighed under him. At the next press, Bucky got a in quick swipe of tongue and then Clint opened to him, his eyes drifting closed. It had been a very long time since Bucky had kissed anyone, but he thought he’d been pretty good at it. He kept his own eyes open though, watching what he could see of Clint's features, trying to read him.

The kiss wasn't earth-shattering, though when Bucky finally pulled away he hovered over Clint for several moments, their breaths intermingling and lips lighting against each other when either breathed in deeply. Clint's eyes opened and Bucky pulled back onto his mat. They stared at each other for a while, not touching beyond where their arms and legs brushed together in the limited space, and then wordlessly got up to move into the tent where they settled in for the night as if nothing happened.

 

~~|~~

 

They had breakfast and hiked out of the canyon well before mid-morning. For whatever reason, the kiss didn’t seem to have changed anything. They didn't talk about it, but they also didn't act strangely because it happened. And by the time they'd looked over the gift shops and other distractions at the Visitor Center, and had an early lunch in order to hit some stops along the way to the North Rim, Bucky half-wondered if he'd dreamed the entire thing.

But then when he and Clint pressed close to take a selfie at Grandview Point, he caught a whiff of Clint's scent, and knew because of delicious way his stomach twisted that it had had been real.

And that he wanted more.

 

~~|~~

 

The quality of sunlight at elevation was just so different. It was a silly realization, but Clint always felt that when he was in mountainous areas. You could take the boy of of the Midwest... And okay, maybe he was distracting himself with having that realization yet again, but...it was easier than thinking too hard about everything else that was going on as they'd finished out their drive around the canyon to the North Rim.

They checked into the North Rim Lodge right around dinner time, but owing to the two days of camping with just a quick splash in the creek, they opted to snag some grab-and-go items and head over to the cabin they'd be staying in for a few days.

Clint took the first shower, in deference to Bucky's metabolism requiring him to fuel up sooner rather than later. Once Bucky was safely inside the shower, Clint picked briefly at his own food before going to the window. It was a fantastic view, though he wasn't giving it his full attention. He really had to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Bucky Barnes, war hero and longest serving POW in history, had kissed him, Clint Barton, full-time fuck-up and occasional hero. _Bucky Barnes had kissed him_. Had Clint done the right thing pretending nothing had happened the night before? Should he be acknowledging it? And why had it happened?

Maybe he'd been confused? He was grateful to Clint for saving him and helping him. And with how overwhelming the canyon was turning out to be, he was just...expressing his emotions in an unexpected direction? Maybe he thought Clint would want some sort of physical...payment or reward for helping him? That was a nauseating thought, and he thudded his head against the glass briefly. Bucky was messed up, sure, but probably not messed up like that. If it had been Yasha, he might have thought that, and...and...

Bucky had emerged from the bathroom, clad only in a towel cinched low around his waist. His gorgeously tapered midsection with its phenomenal six-pack had Clint's mouth going dry as he watched a water droplet skirt down Bucky's chest. And no. Now was a terrible time for his own libido to perk up.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked as he finger-combed his wet hair. “You didn't eat much.”

“I uh, I came over to open the window to catch the breeze and got distracted,” Clint answered. It was the truth too – at least for part of the question.

“It sure is one hell of a view,” Bucky agreed as he came to stand next to Clint. “And to think, I was worried I wouldn't get a good crack at a sunset. We can watch from our porch.”

“In our very own old men rocking chairs.” God – Bucky's slow all encompassing smile was just as devastating from the side as it was full on.

“Grab a coupla beers from the lodge to relax with so we can ignore rather than try to chase the squirrels off our damned lawn.”

“Did they have those jokes back in the 30's or...or...” Bucky had turned to face Clint, caressed the side of his face with his flesh hand before sliding his fingers into Clint's short cropped hair. His thumb steady on Clint's jawline and then they were kissing again.

Where last night's kiss had been awkward, with starts and stops and full of uncertainty, this one was strong and sure from the get go. Clint didn't even hesitate when Bucky parted his lips and slid inside, claiming him with authority.

He should probably be embarrassed about the noise he made when Bucky sucked on his tongue, or how he literally swooned against Bucky’s broad chest, but he found he wasn't, not even in the slightest. In fact, when they paused for breath a moment later, it was Clint who took charge of the kiss that followed, tangling one hand in Bucky's wild hair and settling the other on his lower back to pull him closer still.

Eventually Clint came to his senses, pulling away with a final tug on Bucky's bottom lip with his teeth. That earned him a very gratifying little noise - he'd been completely silent so far - and Bucky swayed after him chasing more.

“What are we doing?” Clint murmured , trying to step away from the heat of Bucky's body and finding his feet firmly cemented to the floor. Bucky's hair was a mess, there was color high on his cheeks, and his lips were red, shiny, and puffy from being kissed. His pupils were blown wide and his chest was moving with his deeper breaths – he looked utterly debauched, and Clint had a moment of stunned pride because, wow, he'd done that. He'd made the Winter Soldier chase the taste of his lips.

“As far as I know, we're making out,” Bucky replied. “People still call it that, right?”

“That they do,” Clint replied, and they leaned in again for a slow and steady kiss.

“I think I’m remembering something,” Bucky said, as they stood forehead to forehead.

“Oh yeah?” Clint questioned, enjoying the feel of Bucky's thumb stroking lightly over his side, his fingers poking barely into the waistband of his shorts. He still had one of his own hands at the nape of Bucky's neck, the other struggling to keep proper at the towel around his waist. By now, Clint had mostly forgotten why he'd been confused about enjoying this, or what he should even classify it as.

“Kissing is pretty amazing.”

The sentence seemed to hang in the air for a moment before they fell against one another in laughter. Laughter that honestly felt to Clint just as good as the kissing had. He looped his arms loosely around Bucky's midsection and felt him do likewise as the laughter petered out.

“Okay Romeo, how about you get dressed and I finish my dinner and we head over to the lodge to have an extravagant dessert?

“And maybe an appetizer?” Bucky asked, a suspiciously innocent expression on his face.

“You can get whatever you want,” Clint replied, a little startled and a lot pleased when Bucky pressed a kiss to his lips in thanks.

 

~~|~~

 

The following day they headed over to Horseshoe Bend for more hiking and some canoeing, and even swimming in the Colorado itself. The activities were fun but exhausting and yet a certain sense of exhilaration seemed to overtake them as they got into the car to head back to the lodge.

As they shuffled back to their cabin after dinner, Bucky reached out to link his hand with Clint's, the shy little smile he gave and expression he wore when Clint squeezed his hand made Clint's heart ache.

When Bucky stopped just inside the doorway as they slipped back inside after enjoying the sunset, Clint was at first concerned, but then caught the way Bucky was looking at his lips. He felt himself smile and leaned back against the door. If Bucky wanted to kiss him he had to be the one to start things.

And start them he did, leaning in to brush his lips against Clint's, then deepen the kiss a moment later. They traded control back and forth until eventually Clint eased his head back to rest against the door, raising a hand to brush a lock of hair from Bucky's face.

“Have you had your eyes open every time we've kissed?” he asked. It seemed like every time Clint opened or closed his own eyes, Bucky's were still open. Not a big thing, just... Was Bucky not as comfortable with all of this as Clint thought he was?

“Yes?” Bucky's brow furrowed and Clint had to resist leaning in to kiss it.

“You should close them if you're comfortable.”

“Why?”

“It helps you focus on the feelings, the sensations. Makes it feel even better.”

“But, but how do I tell if I'm doing okay? If you're enjoying things?”

Clint's heart gave a little thump, no one had ever given him that much care. No one had worried about such things. Sometimes it was hard to believe Bucky Barnes was actually real. “Do you think I haven't been?” he asked, voice soft and curious.

“No?” Bucky's brow furrowed again and Clint knew he was in so very much trouble; it was so endearing he was ready to melt. “I think you've been enjoying yourself, but I just...wanted to be sure.”

“Press me into this door a little harder and slip a leg between mine,” Clint instructed, biting his lip as Bucky did as he was told, the friction feeling wonderful against Clint’s half-hard cock. “See?” he said, voice dropping a little deeper.

“More like feel, but yeah,” Bucky said, and grinned in reply. Clint couldn't help but kiss the insouciant look off of his face.

He also noted with satisfaction that Bucky did close his eyes this time. The kisses were deeper, turned a little more dirty, and both of them let their hands roam a more freely over the other's body. The stroking and clenching stoked the heat between the two of them.

“I think,” Bucky panted, pulling away, but then leaning right back in to bite at Clint's jaw. “I think we maybe...” He groaned as Clint squeezed his ass as they rocked their hips together. “Maybe we should take a breather?”

“You're probably right...” Clint agreed, though it took several more starts and stops before they actually managed to pull apart. A few extra kisses got slipped in before they somehow resisted the magnetic pull of each other's lips.

Clint swallowed hard when Bucky adjusted his obvious erection but resisted pulling him back in for more and he read the mixed feelings about that in Bucky's eyes before he turned away to grab them both bottles of water and a little time and space.

When Bucky's back was turned, Clint reached down to confirm what he already knew. Despite being very, very enthusiastically involved in the makeout session mentally, physically his erection still remained at about half mast. He smiled and caught the bottle of water Bucky tossed to him and filed that away as something to think about later.

 

~~|~~

 

Their final morning at the lodge saw them up to catch the dawn one last time, saying goodbye to the canyon in the same way they had greeted it. If Bucky had noticed at breakfast afterwards that Clint seemed a little more subdued than usual he didn't comment on it. They'd had another long makeout session the night before, and again Clint had found himself unable to relax and get into things as much as he felt he should have. Not for lack of wanting to. It felt like every time he tried to let himself go, a little voice whispered about how much he didn't deserve to enjoy himself – not after everything he'd done. Sex was about feeling good. and having fun, and he hadn't paid his penance, nowhere near it. It was about connecting with another person and he...

Clint trusted Bucky, trusted him probably more than he should have, and certainly well earlier than he should have; but sex made you vulnerable. Even if he could get past the fact he didn't feel like he deserved to enjoy himself, could he really be vulnerable for someone in that way again?

Could he be vulnerable for Bucky like that?

Part of him wanted to. Very badly. Maybe he just had to do something to prove that he deserved it. Something to make up for all the wrong he'd been a part of.

 

~~

 

They departed the North Rim after breakfast. Bucky driving to start out and Clint riding shotgun. Upon entering Nevada, Clint regaled Bucky with tales of Area 51 and UFO conspiracies and any other strange tales he could think of. Concluding that some at Shield knew what the purpose of Area 51 truly was, but it was only the upper clearance levels – and that certain people at Area 51 likewise knew of some, but not all, of Shield's projects as well.

They stopped at a roadside diner with a kitschy 50's theme in the middle of nowhere where a lovely young woman named Clara served them some classic cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes. They swapped bad jokes and an amusing story or two over the duration of the meal. Bucky seemed to have gotten the hang of flirting again if this was any indication, and Clint enjoyed the back and forth between the two of them greatly, wondering if he was getting a little hint of the person Bucky'd been back before the war. Clara happily took a picture of the two of them, laughing in delight when Bucky mentioned they should've included Gertie (and then confessed she was a stuffed dinosaur) and took another picture after he'd fetched her.

Their slices of pie ended up being on the house when Bucky mentioned it had recently been Clint's birthday. He hadn't actually realized that – or the fact that it was so far into June that it was almost July - but had accepted the well wishes and the singing graciously before they paid, leaving a very generous tip, and accepting bottles of water along with their go cups of coffee.

Clint took the wheel this time, owing to the fact they'd be driving at least partially through Las Vegas, and he waited until Bucky had amused himself by taking a picture of Gertie 'drinking' from the straw of his iced coffee, before putting the car in gear and heading out.

“I should've thought about that earlier,” Bucky said as they continued down the road.

“Pictures of Gertie drinking coffee? 'cause that could be a fun thing – a blog about your coffee-addicted traveling dinosaur. Be the next big internet sensation.”

“No,” Bucky chuckled. “That we missed your birthday.” He fiddled with Gertie who was perched on his lap. “Shoulda looked for something as a gift or just said something the day of.”

“It's okay, really. Not too big on birthdays. My parents didn't care all that much for me and we didn't have any money – and then in the circus it was pretty much just another day really.”

“I'm sorry.” Bucky replied. “Money was often tighter than my parents would let on, but they always made sure to have something for the girls or me or Steve when our birthdays came around.” He had a thoughtful look on his face for a moment and Clint was going to interject when he began talking again. “I'm giving you a verbal IOU for a nice dinner or something. Maybe an extravagant cupcake? Are those a thing still?”

“I think they're still a thing?” Clint laughed. “And I guess IOU accepted.”

“You act like you can actually refuse.” Bucky turned to face him head on, and though Clint did need to keep his eyes on the road he kept sporadic eye contact. “In Soviet Russia, birthday celebration enjoys you?” his serious expression cracked after a moment and Clint was close to setting off the horn he was laughing so hard.

“Not sure I did that joke right.” Bucky said as they both finally began to calm down.

“I don't care – that's the funniest fucking thing I've heard in ages. I'd be happy to accept that as a birthday gift.”

“You can, but you're still getting that dinner and/or cupcake.” Bucky replied, smile soft.

Clint supposed he could be okay with that.

 

~~

 

Clint felt a shiver run down his spine when they crossed into California. They wouldn't be going past the wreckage of the site, it had been located a little further south, but they would be passing closer to the location of PEGASUS than he was entirely comfortable with, though he still said nothing to Bucky about it.

They stopped in Barstow for the evening and Clint felt himself get a little twitchy. Perhaps that was the reason he was the one to initiate things with Bucky that evening. Because to hell with his feelings of inadequacy and that he didn't deserve to have fun with a little tumble in the sheets. Maybe if he got off he could loosen up a little.

Bucky was surprised but game enough when Clint cornered him on his way out of the tiny bathroom after a shower, accepting Clint's deep biting kisses with enthusiasm.

“What brought this on?” Bucky questioned when they came up for air, somehow halfway across the room from where they'd started.

“Got a little extra energy to burn after being stuck in the car all day?” Clint asked, moaning eagerly as Bucky swept him up in another deep kiss, pressing their hips together as he spun so Clint was against the wall and fuck, “Fuck.” Clint uttered, pulling out of the kiss and knocking his head into the wall behind him.

“Too much?” Bucky breathed against his cheek, pressing an open-mouthed kiss along Clint’s jaw on his way up to his ear to whisper: “Or not enough?” He pulled Clint's tank to the side and circled his thumb around one of his nipples.

Clint sighed, then nipped at Bucky's lips. “S'nice but it doesn't rev me up like some guys.” He scratched his nails down Bucky's chest and over his nipples, grinning at the soft exclamation he made in reply and the way his eyelids fluttered. Now that was a good look on him.

“Don't remember that feeling so good before.”

Clint's grin got even bigger as he walked Bucky back towards one of the beds. Bucky tilted his head in curiosity, but allowed himself to sit and then fall back, pulling Clint with him. It took a bit of squirming, but Clint managed to find his target as always, licking over one nipple, then the other, sealing his lips around it and sucking. Bucky's back arched and he let out a heartfelt “Shit!”

“Not bad, hm?” Clint asked, raising himself up to one knee and circling Bucky's nipple with his thumb. The towel around his waist had become almost complete loose, barely giving a hint of modesty. Thrumming with energy, Clint felt a fine tremor in his hand as he pulled the towel aside and finally allowed himself to look at Bucky's cock.

“So, how do I measure up?” Bucky asked and there was a blush hinting at his cheeks and firmly established on his ears. He was nervous.

“Gorgeous,” Clint replied, leaning in to kiss him slow and thorough. Bucky's entire body was a fucking work of art and he whispered as much into his ear, earning him a brief chuckle that Clint was pretty sure meant Bucky only half-believed him.

“If you're going to touch me, keep the metal hand up top okay?” he said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Bucky's sternum and trailing his tongue down his abs to the hair low on his belly. Their eyes met briefly when Clint took him in hand, and then Bucky's eyes slid shut as soon as Clint's lips lowered around his erection.

Clint was good at sucking cock, enjoyed it too, but it had been a while (or had it?) for him. Still, given how long it probably had been for Bucky, he didn't think he'd be bothered by any flaws in his form. It was hard to tell though; Bucky was persistently quiet, and Clint knew he should probably ask about that later. And so he licked and swirled his tongue around, added some careful teeth and just the right amount of suction, hoping to get a more vocal response. When that failed, he took a deep breath, relaxed his throat, and took Bucky in all the way, burying his nose in the coarse hair at the base of his cock. Clint had just a moment to enjoy the musky scent before Bucky's hips jerked and his hand was in Clint's hair, and Clint – Clint choked a little and panicked – pulling off and coughing.

“Fuck! Sorry, so sorry, fuck – Clint?” Bucky was sitting up and leaning in, metal hand on the back of Clint's neck, flesh one trying to brush away a few tears from his watering eyes.

“It's fine – it's fine, I'm good, just – it's been a while.” (But maybe it hadn't?) “You just, you surprised me is all.”

“I uh. Yeah, that?” Bucky gestured vaguely and Clint suspected the color on Bucky's cheeks and ears again wasn't just from arousal.

“You've never had a blow job?”

“Well, not like that. Not – all the way.” And that was definitely some blushing going on along his neck.

“No deep throating?” Clint teased, trying to calm the racing of his own thoughts. Bucky shook his head. “Normally I'm better at it – I was a sword swallower for a while in the circus, actually.”

“Oh my fucking God of course you were,” Bucky laughed, though it sounded a little strangled.

“Next time, I'll make it real good for you,” Clint said, voice pitched low and sultry as he hovered close enough for his lips to brush against Bucky's, but he didn't engage in a kiss.

“This time wasn't so bad,” Bucky replied, trying to lean forward and kiss Clint, eyebrows furrowing when Clint kept evading until he finally growled and pulled him in with his metal hand.

 _“Two points to Barton,”_ Clint thought a little giddily as his hand drifted down to grasp Bucky's erection again. His own erection, which had been primed and ready before, was all but gone now, and though he tried a little dry humping, he just couldn't quite get things back in order.

Well, no matter, this was more about Bucky than it was about him, all that thrumming energy from before having drained out of him when he'd flubbed up. And just because Clint wasn't likely to get off, certainly didn't mean Bucky couldn't. So he pulled out all the tricks he could think of and soon enough Bucky was spilling over his hand with a silent huff, and Clint stuck close through the aftershocks until Bucky batted his hand away and Clint rolled onto his back...

...and promptly had a little panic attack.

“Imma-go - to the bathroom?” Clint said as he turned to the side and hastily, well, scrambled off of the bed.

“You good?” Bucky called after him, his liquid ease from the orgasm making him slower to respond.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Clint caught him sitting up, as he entered the still-humid bathroom with a “Yeah sure – pants. Need to change.” As he closed the door behind him, he turned the lock and spun around to fall at the base of the toilet, dry heaves overtaking him.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

He had a moment to turn on the taps as he heard the floor creak outside the door. Another wave of nausea had him doubling over.

“You good?” Bucky asked through the door.

“Yeah sure, gotta change my pants though,” Clint replied eventually. “It's been a long time since I came in my pants, but I remember that it's best to wash it right away to avoid stains. I'll be out in a bit – no worries.”

Lies. Lies. All of it lies, he thought, looking into his eyes in the mirror after splashing more water on his face. There was no way he could tell Bucky about what had just happened. What had happened with Loki.

Besides. It wasn't like it would be hard to get over. It wasn't really that bad, was it?

Bucky had pulled on sleep pants and a loose tank top by the time Clint slipped back out of the bathroom, having changed into his own sleeping clothes. Clint smiled at him as he slid into the bed next to him, kissing him softly on the lips as they settled in for the night.

 

~~|~~

 

Clint thought that things would get better as they made their way north-northwest, away from PEGASUS, away from the various bases and secret bunkers. That he'd be able to feel himself again as they camped and took in the beauty of Sequoia and Kings Canyon Parks, and eventually the Sierra National Forest. But as each day passed, it felt more and more like he was in danger of vibrating into a million pieces. Like he was brittle. Thin. How had Bilbo put it? Butter scraped over too much bread?

He thought he was hiding it. That Bucky hadn't known him long enough, that they weren't close enough – but he did notice. He wasn't saying anything, not yet, but he'd noticed. Clint could tell by the way he looked at him – how careful he was. And wasn't that just fucking hilarious? The Winter Soldier being the one worried that someone else was going to snap.

Things got a little better as they spent time in Yosemite, and Clint began to wonder if he'd finally turned a corner.

That alone should have been the sign it was all going to fall apart.

Nothing good ever came of Clint expecting the best.

 

~~

 

“Shall we try again?” Clint asked, trying to sound sexy but probably missing by a mile. Bucky didn't seem to mind, though that could've been because Clint was rubbing him through his jeans.

“You sure?” Bucky's lips were red from kissing, it was becoming one of Clint's favorite looks on him.

“Yeah?” Clint replied, kissing the corner of his mouth in the hopes that that would distract Bucky from the fact it had come out as more of a question than answer. “As long as you're comfortable with it.” There. That was much better.

“Barton,” Bucky gripped his chin between finger and thumb, “I'd really like it if you'd suck my cock.”

“Who says romance is dead?” Clint joked, and huh – who knew Bucky using his last name would be such a turn on. His dick had certainly perked up anyway, at both that and the look in Bucky's eyes, the way he held his chin, how he'd managed to ask and demand at the same time.

This one was going to go better, Clint thought as he worked his way down Bucky's body. There was no way anything would go wrong, he told himself as he slid Bucky's erection between his lips. He closed his eyes in pleasure because – yes, this was good, he enjoyed this. And Bucky was enjoying it too, squirming a little underneath him, tangling the fingers of his right hand in Clint's hair, letting out a gasp as Clint relaxed his throat and slid down-

There was blue all around him and he felt cold in his core as Loki's hand twisted painfully in his hair and spilled down his throat.

_I suppose that will suffice._

“Clint? Clint, you okay?”

There were hands on his face and one was cooler than the other, but that fact was strangely comforting.

“Did I hurt you, darlin'? I didn't think I pulled that hard. I'm so sorry.”

“Bucky.” Clint felt a wash of shame course through his body, even more strongly when he realized his face was damp from tears.

“There you are, hey.” Bucky's hands were so fucking gentle as they cradled his face. “What happened?”

“I don't...” He shook his head a little and looked down, unwilling to meet those clear blue eyes. “I don't know.” That was a lie. He knew perfectly well what had happened.

“Clint – I'm worried about you. You can tell me anything you know.”

And, well, Clint probably would tell him anything if he asked; it was almost a Pavlovian thing for him - Bucky asked, Clint did.

“It's Loki.” Clint's eyes flitted up to see Bucky nodding encouragement. “He uh, he-” Clint knew his breathing was getting too shallow, too quick. And that was fucking ridiculous because he wasn't going to have a panic attack over this. He wasn't. “After he learned I liked guys, he made me blow him a few times when he was bored.”

“Aw shit, Clint.”

“It's fine. It's fine. I'm fine.” And well, at least the last one hadn't come out more of a question than a statement, even if it was a blatant lie.

“No, it's not fine.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” Was Bucky angry with him? He seemed upset at least.

“Clint that's-”

“I only remembered it last time I tried to give you head-” I wasn't lying the entire time we've been doing this thing. Clint basically didn't say.

Just almost the entire time.

“And I'm good for other stuff. I swear!” Because hey, if he was going to salvage something with Bucky that would be an important factor probably, right? He could do hand jobs no problem, frottage, maybe even rimming. And toys were a thing, if Bucky wanted something up his ass. Clint could do a lot with his fingers and he wasn't above using a dildo if Bucky wanted it.

“I just – I'm having a hard time getting hard – heh that's funny when you think about it-”

“Clint.” And nope. Nope. That wasn't a good note in Bucky's voice at all.

“Because, I think, I don't.” And well, here we go. Might as well just dump it all out Barton. “I don't think I deserve sex? I don't-”

“Clint!”

Clint's mouth snapped shut at the commanding tone in Bucky's voice and he hung his head in shame, muttering out a quick “I'm sorry.”

“I think it's time we take a break,” Bucky said, as he tucked himself away and fastened his pants again from the sound of it.

Clint's heart sank because well of course. Of course with Bucky feeling better he'd want to distance himself from Clint. Clint wasn't even fucked up for a good reason, but he was fucked up. They could split the money easily enough, or, he was pretty sure there was a safe house he could hole up in for a while – not one of his, so it meant SHIELD might cotton onto him being alive and stuff but, well...

“Whatever you're thinking stop right now.” Bucky's voice cut through the descending fog of guilt and despair. He titled Clint's chin and waited for him to actually focus on his face rather than his shoulder. “A break like in New Orleans. We're gonna find a spot to do nothing.”

“I mean, isn't that kinda what we've been doing?”

“Yes, but not exactly.” He'd dropped his finger from Clint's chin, settling his hand on his shoulder instead. Clint noticed he had the laptop on the bed beside him. “No sightseeing this time. Just bumming around.”

“Sounds dull.”

“And maybe finally talking about some of the shit we're both dealing with.”

“On the other hand – doing nothing sounds great.”

“Clint...” Man, how did his name always end up being the sound of disappointment.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders, surprised that Bucky's hand remained. “I'm sorry” Sorry for failing you, sorry for being a little useless. He had a whole list of the ways he was letting Bucky down really.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, but, since we're saying it – I'm sorry too.”

“Now I know you really don't have anything to be sorry for.”

“Well I'm sorry because maybe I should've been looking after you more.”

“Bucky, you don't-”

“Helping you, it helps me focus. Feel more like myself.” Bucky replied. Clint thought he read 'so it's not all about you' in his tone and he nodded, ashamed again.

“Clint, can you tell me. Have you- Has anything we've done been because you thought you needed to do it?”

“No! No no no no no no – I mean, I'm having some issues here, but I am one hundred and ten per cent on board with sexing you up.” Bucky pursed his lips. “Getting my sex on with you?” Clint growled at himself in annoyance because this was a serious conversation – which was probably part of the reason he was having a hard time being serious in it.

“I want to have sex with you. I want you. Please don't doubt that.” And his face or his voice must have been honest or earnest enough because Bucky nodded, satisfied.

“Remember – You save me, I save you.”

“You save me, I save you,” Clint nodded, and followed up with, “Thank you. For not leaving me.” And, well, that sounded entirely too pathetic, and he had a moment of hating himself before Bucky just smiled at him.

“Not going anywhere without me.”

Something about the look on Bucky's face and the way he’d said it made Clint feel good actually, for the first time in a long time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Clint and Bucky begin to become more intimate Clint has more thoughts about his time under Loki and realizes that Loki forced him to give him oral. This causes him moments of panic and upset.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

“So I guess psychologists are referring to stuffed animals and blankets and such as 'comfort objects' now, did you know that?” Bucky asked as he drove down California Highway 1 (the famed Pacific Coast Highway, though at the moment there was no coast in sight). It had taken him a day of poking around online to find what he'd been looking for. He hadn't realized how nervous he'd been about the situation until it had felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. They had a cabin in Bodega Bay for at least a week.

“You been reading psych journals in your spare time?” Clint asked from the passenger seat where he was holding Gertie.

“An article here and there online,” Bucky replied with a shrug. What else was he supposed to do? It's not like either of them could just waltz into a clinic and talk to someone about things. He might as well try to educate himself. “Do you recall having one?”

“Yeah,” Clint said after side-eyeing him briefly. He'd been subdued since the other night. Not upset to the point Bucky'd been worried he was going to do something, but, he wasn't... He wasn't the Clint Bucky had grown used to. “I mean for a little while anyway. I had a little lion. Not sure how I ever got it, to be honest, with how my father bitched about our money problems all the time. Maybe my mom squirreled enough away? Maybe Barney lifted it for all I know. Dad wasn't thrilled that I still had him when I was five – that much I do recall.”

“Anyway he lasted through the orphanage somehow, but he pretty much fell apart at the circus.” Clint shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

“Well by that point at least you had real lions to be friends with?” Clint looked at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. The sound was one of the best Bucky'd ever heard.

“Well Felix was a cranky old man, but Delilah adored me, so yeah.”

“No shit, really?” Well, circuses did tend to have big cats from what Bucky could recall, but he'd mostly been joking.

“You ever had a bath from a regular cat?” Bucky see-sawed his hand. They hadn't owned any, but he knew there were cats all over the place in the city, and he could dimly recall befriending some.

“She must've thought I was just the messiest and dimmest hairless cub ever.”

“They let you in with them? Wasn't that dangerous?” The mental image of a young Clint curled up with a lioness was too cute for words, though Bucky couldn’t help but worry. They had been essentially wild animals after all.

“The more I think about it, the more I'm sure the humans were the actual dangerous part of Carson’s. The animals – sure, to a point, they were wild animals, technically speaking. But sometimes I think they could recognize a kindred spirit or something. I dunno.

Well. If none of the humans, including his own blood, would look after Clint at least the animals had been good to him.

 

~~

 

Eloise, the owner of the cottage they'd be renting, met them on the porch. She was a tiny woman, about five foot nothing with a sparkle in her eyes and a strength to her handshake that hinted at inner steel. She walked them around the place, pointing out things like where the extra linens and towels were, showing them the mostly unfinished basement/ground floor built half-into the hillside where the laundry currently was located.

“You seem like lovely young men – just let me know if you need it longer than a week, okay?” she said to Bucky as Clint went to grab their bags. “That fella of yours looks tired.”

“He's not... We're not entirely...” Bucky sighed and watched as she raised her eyebrow. “It's – complicated.”

“Now dear, it's quite all right. I may be older, but that doesn't mean I'm not open minded. My brother and his roommate lived very happy lives of confirmed bachelorhood, if you catch my meaning.” Her smile gentled as she added. “And my great-nephew stayed with me a while when he first came out and his parents were being idiots about everything.”

“That's um… Thank you?”

“You remind me a bit of my husband you know,” Eloise plowed on. “ Old school Brooklyn in your vowels. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in your 80’s by voice alone.”

She had no idea, Bucky thought with rueful amusement.

“Anyway, there's a few grocery marts and a fish market. It's all pretty easy to find. Diners and coffee shops too, if you two don't feel like doing your own cooking.” 

Clint returned with the bags.

“I'm just on the other side of town with my younger sister now, so if you need anything let me know. The number is on the fridge.” And with that she was off so they could settle in.

 

~~|~~

 

For the first few days, Clint didn't really do much of anything. Bucky counted it a win when on the third day, he actually got out of bed to eat something rather than just grabbing a few power bars and a sports drink and vanishing again. Granted, he had purchased a fresh frozen pizza from the local market, so he technically had stacked the odds, but still – it was a win.

Bucky had, in the meantime, tried to keep as low of a profile as he could. Mostly sticking close to the house, heading down to the beach occasionally, and trying out one of the closer walking trails to work off some of his extra energy. The weather was a boon as well. He didn't get any strange looks for his long sleeves, and with the highs mostly sticking around 70F, he was fairly comfortable in them. The fact that Bodega Bay was a tourist town with only a few thousand permanent residents, should've worked in his favor for blending in and going unnoticed, but he found that the opposite was happening.

By the fourth day when he went to the seafood market to try and find something else to entice Clint with, he was greeted by name by one of the locals. It took him a moment to recall he'd seen the man in the coffee shop two days earlier, but hadn't really spoken with him. Bucky wasn't doing anything strange, and he couldn't fathom this being some sort of stronghold for spies. Maybe it was because they were renting Eloise's place?

At the grocery mart the stock boy happily offered him a little packet of cayenne that Bucky had offhandedly inquired after two days before, explaining that his girlfriend had been to Santa Rosa last night and he'd asked her to pick some up since their inventory wouldn't be coming in for another week. It was strange, and he knew he should be suspicious about it (and that said all sorts of fun things about his life if he looked at it too hard), but he couldn't find anything untoward about anyone in the city when he'd done some poking around. They were just good friendly people.

Bucky was still shaking his head at it later that evening as he was carefully adding everything but the shrimp, oysters, and lump crab meat to his roux and vegetables.

“That smells fucking fantastic,” Clint said as he wandered in from the porch where he'd been reading a battered copy of _Good Omens._

“Thanks. Here's hoping it will taste decent when it's finished,” he replied, wondering how early was too early to measure out the Minute Rice. He had a good hour for everything to simmer.

“You making me gumbo?” Clint asked, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder and leaning against him. Over the last several days, other than sharing the bed, which included a little spooning when either had had a bad dream, they hadn't had a lot of contact. A stark contrast from the past- Well, they'd been together a month and a half by now he figured.

“Trying to, yeah,” he replied, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when Clint pressed a quick kiss to his neck and slid his arms around Bucky's waist.

“That's fucking sweet of you.”

Bucky chuffed a little laugh at that. “So eloquent.”

“Damn straight I am,” Clint said proudly.

They shot the breeze as they let the gumbo to do it's thing. Clint acting more and more like he had been before they'd entered California. Bucky was a little nervous Clint was just putting on a cover, that this version of Clint maybe was just trying to go with the flow of things to allay Bucky’s concern, but over the course of enjoying dinner itself Bucky began to believe more and more that it wasn't. That Clint slowly was feeling better and getting back to being himself.

“I feel kind of gross,” Clint announced as they cleaned up after dinner.

“It wasn't the food was it?” He was a decent enough cook, could follow directions well, but had he messed something up? Did being a knock-off super soldier give him an iron stomach if he had?

“No, the food was spectacular – I think I might have a food baby I ate so much. It's more,” he waved at himself in general. “I don't know how you're putting up with me not showering.”

“Well – we have been camping a lot lately – I suppose I'm just used to your stinky ass.” Bucky replied and Clint laughed, loud and clear and man that sound was music to Bucky's ears. He hadn't realized how much he'd loved it until he'd been without it for a while.

“I'll change the sheets while you shower?” He offered and Clint nodded and they split up to do just that. Only, after Bucky had finished putting new sheets on and had run the laundry down to the washer and returned with some towels fresh from the dryer, did he find Clint still standing in front of the shower, fully clothed.

“I'm not sure why I can't make myself get in,” Clint said quietly. “Nothing's happened to me in or around water for years. I _know_ that.”

“Enclosed space?”

“I usually feel better in those. Hiding out as a kid, high or tight was my refuge.”

“Might not be a reason then.” Bucky shrugged. “Maybe you're just not ready? That's fine too, if that's the case.”

“Yeah no – I need to get clean.” Clint's lips twisted in an exaggerated frown and he wrinkled his nose. “Is it dumb to ask you to like, loiter in here or something? Just in case.” Just in case of what, Bucky had no idea. He was pretty sure that Clint had no idea either, but he nodded all the same. He didn't have anything to do, he could sit around and chat if needed while Clint showered. Hell – he wouldn't even mind showering with him if it would help.

Then again, while the shower was nice and all, it wasn't exactly big enough for two people. The bathtub, on the other hand...

“How about we share a bath instead?” Clint turned to regard him, brow arched. “Nothing sexy,” to which Clint's brow lowered and he stuck his lip out in a pronounced pout.

“Nothing sexy _this time_.” And there was Clint’s smile. “I'll just help you get clean.”

“Lead me not into temptation?” Clint joked as Bucky stripped down to his boxer briefs and climbed in after filling the tub.

“Something like that.” Bucky replied, turning and waiting while Clint stripped the rest of the way out of his own clothing.

“I'm not going to freak out at the sight of your dick you know,” Clint said as he climbed in. Although it made sense that Clint might assume Bucky thought that seeing his dick would remind him of their failed blow job attempts. They had talked some about how Clint was feeling about sex in general – how he didn't think he was worthy of it somehow. Bucky truly didn't know a thing about psychology but he thought maybe things were better than they had been back in Sonora.

“I didn't think you would. This is more to remind _me_ nothing is going to happen.” He smiled a little wistful as Clint let out a soft 'oh.' Because yeah, he still wanted Clint. Wanted him more and more as the days passed and he remembered what it was like to be attracted to someone.

But this bath was not about sex or foreplay. He was just helping someone he cared about get clean. It was gratifying in a way Bucky couldn't explain as he carefully poured water over Clint's head and body then gently soaped him up and rinsed. Hearing and feeling Clint relax as the grime of the past few days washed away. How calm and peaceful he was in Bucky's lap.

“Hair's getting a little shaggy,” Bucky commented as he worked some conditioner in. Clint simply “mmm'ed” in reply. “Did you want to leave it, or maybe find a barber shop?”

“Didn't you used to cut Steve's hair?” Clint murmured, relaxing back against Bucky's chest so the conditioner had time to work.

“You'd trust me to come at you with a pair of scissors?”

“I mean Steve didn't look terrible in the old photos,” Clint said, eyes dancing with laughter when he twisted his head to look at Bucky. “But yeah. I trust you.” He reached across his chest to grab Bucky's metal hand and thread their fingers together. “I trust you with everything.”

Bucky had to clear his throat even though it did nothing to dislodge the lump that had taken up residence there, and pressed a firm kiss off to the side of Clint's eye. That was a loaded reply coming from someone like Clint. Not to mention that it had been said to someone like him.

They'd both been pretty fucked up at the start of this trip – they were both still pretty fucked up if he was honest, but – somehow they were making it work. Somehow they were building a relationship that worked in its own strange way. And yeah, they were both overly paranoid but at least they knew that and could keep the other in check. Sure, they both had enough issues to fill a library, but at least one's strong suits buoyed the other's negative ones. They had checks and balances. It was messy and probably not the most healthy, but their relationship or partnership or whatever it was between them _worked._

“Want me to do it tonight or later?” He eventually asked.

“Tonight.” Clint replied. “That way if you fuck it up I can get a buzz tomorrow in town.”

“Jerk,” Bucky said with a laugh, lightly tapping Clint with his free hand.

“Takes one to know one,” Clint chuckled in reply. Somehow they avoided having a water fight – mostly because they didn't want to cause too much of a mess beyond the one they were about to make by cutting Clint's hair.

After drying off and dressing, Bucky pulled one of the kitchen chairs into the bathroom and laid out some newspapers around it to try and catch most of the clippings, then found himself doubled over laughing as Clint leapt into the room after fastening a towel around himself like a cape.

“Hey – I'm a superhero I'll have you know.” Clint's voice dripping with mock outrage as Bucky pulled himself together.

“I know you are,” he replied, far more serious as he adjusted the towel to actually shield Clint's clothing from the hair. Bucky didn't have to have been present to know the good Clint had done - the good he pretended wasn't good enough. How even though he'd been part of causing the Battle of New York, he'd also been instrumental in winning it. A regular man with a bow and arrows fighting alongside a super soldier and a man with an armored suit and against a god and aliens and somehow holding his own. Making a difference."

"A man who, despite his own demons, looked at another man who was in even deeper and said _'I'm going to save you.'_ " In Bucky's mind, there wasn't quite another hero like Clint Barton, and he knew that that was showing on his face and in his eyes. A faint blush appeared on Clint's cheeks and he glanced down as if he had no idea what to do with Bucky's frank admiration.

“Okay hero – you ready?” Clint brought his gaze back up and nodded before taking a seat. It was quick work, the haircut. Bucky had always been decently skilled at this. Had always been very fastidious about how he’d looked before the war. It had been a very long time since he'd touched another person like that, however, so while it wasn't anywhere near his worst work, it also wasn't his best. Still, Clint looked cleaner and seemed pleased enough with the results when Bucky showed him the mirror.

“Thank you,” Clint said, pressing a kiss to Bucky's lips, their first in days, before helping him clean up.

They shared a few more kisses later as they settled into bed together, and for once Clint fell into an easy sleep not long after settling in. Bucky, on the other hand, was staring up at the ceiling for longer than he'd admit. Well – alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the man curled against his side. Because earlier Bucky had thought he didn't know how to classify what it was between them. What was building between them. But the longer he laid in the dark, the longer he looked at Clint and thought about everything, the more terrified he became.

Because he was pretty damn sure that what was building between them, at least from his end of things, was love.

 

~~|~~

 

“Fair warning – everyone in town thinks we’re a couple,” Bucky admitted the following morning as he drove them towards the north side of town for breakfast. He'd been pleased beyond words when Clint had rolled onto his chest that morning and grumbled into his collarbone about how he'd really like to stay longer and could he maybe call their landlady, and then promptly fell back asleep drooling lightly. And even more pleased that when Clint finally did wake up fully he recalled the things he'd said and still wanted that – and breakfast. And to get out of the house.

“Well, you did save me from my abusive ex,” Clint said, then turned to look at Bucky. “Too soon?”

“It's fine,” he shook his head. The bruising had faded into nothing weeks ago now, and though Bucky still felt guilt from the incident, he was okay with Clint joking about it. “Though I thought we had agreed it was kinky sex?”

“That's right. Fewer questions for whatever reason.” Clint nodded as they pulled into a parking spot. “People are strange.”

“Yes, I can't imagine why no one wants to know the details of our kinky sex life.” Bucky replied deadpan.

“I mean – it's hot as sin so – yeah, no idea.” And Bucky was helpless against laughing at Clint, their hands linked together like it was the most natural thing in the world as they fell into step down the sidewalk.

Lenny, the man who had known Bucky at the fish market the day before, was seated at the counter and tipped his hat to the two of them as they entered. Clint's eyebrow raised as he followed Bucky to an open table near the window. Before he could say anything, a young waitress practically bounced over.

“Hi! You're James, right? I'm Ron's girlfriend, Gina. How did that cayenne work out for you?”

“It worked very well, thank you,” he replied with an amused grin, trying not to make eye contact with Clint who, from the look of it, was near vibrating with pent up commentary. He knew he was in for an earful, if not now then later when they got back to car. If he was lucky Clint would wait until they returned to the cabin.

“What can I get you guys to drink?”

“Coffee is fine,” Bucky replied.

“Preferably in a cup the size of my head, if possible.”

“He'll drink out of the pot if you aren't careful.”

“One time. It was one time.”

“Coffee it is,” Gina laughed as she left them to peruse the menus and bicker good-naturedly. She returned a few minutes later and, with a wink, set down a coffee cup that was bigger than some bowls Bucky had seen in front of Clint and filled it.

“You are a goddess, don't let anyone tell you otherwise,” Clint said, leaning his face over the cup to inhale the scent and steam.

“It's all well and good for you to spoil him, you get to give him back to me at the end of the meal.” Bucky said with mock dismay.

“Your bedtime is never – don't let him tell you otherwise.” Gina loudly whispered to Clint and the two of them sniggered as Bucky threw his hands up.

Breakfast passed quickly with good food and good company, Gina stopping by the table often just to chat and Lenny settling down for a moment while waiting for his go-coffee. Bucky was glad for it, since Lenny let them know about the annual Fourth of July fireworks being set off that evening, sharing an anecdote about how his grandfather and uncle had both loved and hated them, and then made his way out the door.

 

~~

 

“I wasn't raped.” Clint said, and Bucky paused his steps for a moment, and glanced over at him. Okay – it seemed like they were doing this right here and now. “I don't feel like I can call it that.”

“What would you call it then?”

“I don't know.” Clint's voice was quiet.

“Would you be comfortable referring to it as a violation?” Bucky was suddenly glad he'd removed his gloves for this walk, allowing the clearest sign of how he, too, had been violated, to be plainly evident. “You've admitted already that the way he controlled you, how he made you kill people, was a violation.”

“I know,” Clint nodded, stroking his thumb over Bucky's metal one, his nail catching at the knuckle seams in a way that made Bucky wonder if it was somehow comforting for Clint with how he kept doing it. “I suppose so. I guess I just-” he stopped suddenly and Bucky had to pull up as well, and take a step back so he was square with Clint again. “I don't want it to be about sex. I don't want him to fuck that up for me. I'm having enough issues already, it seems.”

Bucky kept it to himself because they both knew rape was never just about the sexual gratification, but more about the power it allowed one person to hold over another. He also took a quick glance around to make sure no one was on the beach anywhere near them – just in case.

“I want to give you a fucking blow job.”

“That's probably not the best idea in plain sight on the beach.” Bucky replied, worried for an instant that it was the wrong thing to say but then sighing in relief as Clint socked him lightly in the shoulder.

“I'm trying to be serious here.” Clint's expression was a complicated mixture of amused and frustrated. “But thank you. I probably needed the laugh.”

“All a part of my services.”

“I have so so so many jokes I could make. Really filthy ones, really stupid ones – the whole nine yards,” Clint replied, his expression firmly settling into – comfortable, Bucky would call it. “The number of innuendos and double entendres I can make about oil changes alone.  
“I'm going to give you that blow job some day.” Clint said as he allowed Bucky to wrap his arms around him, hemming him in. “It's going to be an amazing one too.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Bucky replied with an easy smile. “And I'll wait. We'll work up to it.”

“We will, huh?” Clint tilted his head so they could see each other better, his fingers absently tapping against Bucky's chest.

“Mmhmm.” He pressed a kiss to Clint's forehead. “Well figure out stuff we're both comfortable with. We're smart enough.” And interested enough in each other as well.

 

~~

 

Bucky settled in against Clint, earbuds firmly in place and music turned up. His eyes slid shut when Clint tangled his fingers into Bucky's hair, alternating playing with it and massaging Bucky's scalp. Even though their cottage was south of Bodega Head and the fireworks were being shot in the harbor, they weren't taking any chances, guarding as best they could against the noise.

Lenny had mentioned how, even though they didn't call it PTSD and his uncle was well adjusted and hadn't had any accidents during the war, he still had looked so haunted the first time he'd heard the fireworks in the distance, unprepared.

Bucky was reasonably certain the Soldier wouldn't be triggered by something like that – it wasn't like the Hulk response in Doctor Banner as the Organization had understood and informed him about - but, he'd experienced enough during the war himself that he didn't want to chance any episodes. And if he could avoid something that might cause him nightmares more readily, it was a good thing.

Annoyingly, even with the earbuds in Bucky could still faintly make out the distant percussive thuds when the fireworks began and, even expecting it, he felt the curl of nerves in his stomach. Perhaps he was psyching himself into it though and if he just tried to focus on something else and not think about it, the nerves would wash away.

With that in mind, Bucky took a breath and focused his senses on listening to the beating of Clint's heart under his head. Feeling how his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was perhaps too focused because when Clint began speaking the buzzing vibration made him startle. Clint cradled his head a moment, easing his thumb back and forth on his neck while he continued to speak. What he was saying wasn't important, it was just another stimuli to focus on, another white noise to block out the concussions.

And it was working. Between the music and the sound and feel of Clint beneath him, Bucky's nerves began to even out. He snuck his hand under Clint's shirt to flatten against his ribs to directly soak in his warmth.

Clint also had earbuds in, though only in one ear so he could listen for the ending of the show. He said he'd never been bothered by fireworks – that he quite enjoyed them actually – but that had been before Loki. Not to mention that that was when you could see the colors and designs – because when all you could do was hear them...well how much difference was there really between a fireworks show and shelling when it came down to nothing but sound?

However he felt, Clint certainly didn't have to help Bucky like this, and it meant a lot to him. He pressed half a kiss to Clint's chest and got a little scritch in reply.

Eventually Clint set his book down and removed his hand from Bucky's hair. He whined, nearly inaudible but there, in response, turning and nuzzling his face into Clint's chest, dislodging an earbud. Clint's hand had landed on the back of his head again, petting his hair softly, even as Bucky raised himself up, weight balanced on his metal arm, flesh hand still flat against Clint's skin, his breath catching at the unguarded look on Clint’s face that vanished between one blink and the next.

“Thank you, he said.

“You've got some crazy hair going on right now,” Clint said, diverting. Bucky was getting used to that, Clint diverting when there were emotions he wasn't ready to deal with yet, and this time it made him smile – because it meant he hadn't imagined what he'd seen.

“Oh yeah? I wonder whose fault that is?” Bucky leaned in to brush his nose against Clint's, relishing in how Clint felt moving under him, how Clint strained to reply with, “I have no idea,” before Bucky finally gave in to the inevitable and allowed their lips to connect for a soft and earnest kiss. A kiss that ebbed and flowed as they lay curled together on the bed, enjoying the peace and each other before eventually falling into a restful slumber.

 

~~

 

“Was yesterday really Steve's birthday?” Clint asked the following morning. It was early – the sun barely up, but both of them had awoken even earlier – though neither had felt any particular urge to move quite yet.

“Yeah, it was.” Bucky replied. Huh. He'd forgotten about that. Or, well, he hadn't given it a ton of thought at least.

“I'd always wondered if they'd just said that because it made a good story.” Clint continued. “Captain America being born of the Fourth of July.”

“Nope, it really was-is true.” Bucky shrugged. It was awkward trying to work out how to talk about things like that with his own strange timeline, not to mention the fact that Steve's life had been affected similarly. Of all the problems this life was throwing at him, figuring out how to talk about his best friend in regards to their fucked up timelines was a _good one_ since it meant the both of them were still alive.

“Sarah, his mom, had him believing for a little while that everyone was celebrating for him. He cottoned on pretty quick though. Steve was always smart as a whip. I'm pretty sure if they'd have tried to move his official birthday because of the shield he woulda raised a big fuss.” He smiled softly. Steve's temper was a thing of beauty when it wasn't directed at you or something that could kill or maim him (and you, by extension).

“You miss him, don't you? Clint asked. The question seemed innocent enough, but Bucky wondered if there was something else to it. Clint was a little too careful. A little too deliberate in how he asked. The way he wasn't looking at Bucky while waiting for an answer.

“I do miss him, he admitted. “Even without all of my memories, he's there – in what little I do have – he's important.” He settled an arm around Clint. “I can't imagine it's been easy for him to adjust but it sounds like he's got himself a good group of people. Howard's son. Peggy's protege. Your Natasha. Even before the serum he was a tough little guy – he'll adapt.”

“But what about you?” And now Clint craned his neck to be able to catch Bucky's eye. “He'd love to have you back, you know. And you – you need people too. No man is an island or something – I forget the quote.” And there was the insecurity he knew Clint had within him, born of far too many people letting him down.

“I think it's for the best that Steve and I stay separate for now. I'm-” He paused, breathing steadily. “I'm not the Bucky he knew. I don't think I can ever be him again, no matter how much I remember, how much I “heal” and...” he let out a carefully measured breath. Explaining how he was feeling was difficult enough. Explaining how he was feeling and also trying to work around Clint's insecurities? Well... “And it's going to take time for Steve to get used to that and I don't - I don't want that disappointment for him right now.” Or for that disappointment to make Bucky lose his way trying to make Steve happy.

“I don't think finding out your best friend is alive when you thought he was dead will be a disappointment. No matter how much either of you has changed.” Clint replied.

“Distraction then.” Bucky shrugged. “Right now, both he and I need time to heal and adjust to – everything.” Being frozen for all those years. Being made into a living weapon. And even if you somehow removed what had happened to the both of then society now was so very different from what they knew. “Sometimes a clean slate is the best thing for that kind of healing.”

Clint still looked skeptical and Bucky leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. “And I'm not alone – I have you.”

 

~~|~~

 

The beignets were easier to make than he had anticipated – though he did admit he might have been building them up in his head. Then again, bagels had always managed to get the better of him and he'd had his grandmother to teach him how to make those. For this, he only had his memory of the taste and texture back in New Orleans and the instruction on the box of mix itself. Bucky still wasn't certain how he'd managed to get the package from New Orleans in and hidden before Clint had noticed, but he had and now he just hoped the surprise would go over well.

As soon as they first batch had been tested and proven to turn out okay he put the coffee on. They'd been down to the last of their can, even with switching between it and another coffee, so he brewed the pot a little extra strong. He carefully placed everything on the tray and debated a second before tossing the towel over his shoulder and heading for the bedroom.

Clint was still asleep, though he was beginning to stir – probably from the smell of the coffee. He had some sort of special sense for it, rousing from the deepest slumber to shuffle zombie-like towards the pot.

“Hey, darlin', rise and shine. Got a surprise for you.”

“Srprs?” Clint mumbled, head emerging from the blanket cocoon he'd formed in Bucky's absence, eyes what could only very loosely be termed open, hair standing in wild disarray. Something warm and comfortable settled in Bucky's chest at the sight and he figured it would be stupid to lie to himself and call it anything other than love. “Y'md me brkfst in bed?”

“So I think you just asked if I made you breakfast in bed,” he teased, setting the tray down at the foot of the bed and running a hand over Clint's lower leg under the sheets. The sleepy smile he received for it made his heart jump just a little. Bucky leaned in and Clint tilted his head so they could press their lips together in a brief good morning kiss. And this was it. This was what he'd been working towards without even realizing it. A perfect quiet moment with the man he loved.

“You look happy,” Clint said, tucking a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear.

“I am happy,” he replied, ducking in for another kiss.

“Me too.” Clint said, music to Bucky's ears as he backed away in order to grab the tray. “Are those...?” Clint's eyes widened as Bucky settled the tray over his lap. “Did you make beignets?”

“Turns out you can order the mix online directly from Café Du Monde.”

“And more coffee.” Clint said, sniffing appreciatively at his mug.

“And more coffee,” Bucky agreed, settling carefully in beside Clint. He was nervous, which objectively seemed ridiculous, he was the Winter Soldier, his - boyfriend sounded juvenile and lover wasn't entirely accurate, not yet – almost-lover's enjoyment of a pastry he made should not make him worry, but it did.

“What?” Clint asked, beignet held just in front of his mouth. Some powdered sugar fell down onto his t-shirt.

“Nothing.”

“Y'sure?” Clint asked around the mouthful of dough he'd just bitten. Bucky began to chuckle and nodded, because yeah – of course Clint would have done something like that. “Holy shit ths're good,” followed, and Bucky was torn between laughing at Clint still talking with his mouth full and being pleased that he genuinely enjoyed what Bucky had made.

“Chew and swallow babe, then talk. Might end up spilling your coffee if I have to do the Heimlich.” Clint made a few exaggerated chews before sticking his (somehow free of any food) tongue out at Bucky. “Charming,” Bucky said, still accepting the press of lips against his, licking away the powdered sugar it deposited.

“Always am.” Clint replied with a wink. “And these are pretty fucking amazing – you did good.”

“Thank you,” And Bucky felt a little more at ease because Clint had approved.

They ended up sharing the beignets and fruit Bucky had brought in, then Clint followed him into the kitchen and pouted until Bucky finished cooking the last of the batter he'd mixed up.

After finishing breakfast and showering they packed a picnic lunch and snacks and made their way to Point Reyes for an afternoon of hiking and enjoying the weather.

Later that evening, after grilling steaks, potatoes and corn, they curled up on the couch and finally watched The Shawshank Redemption. Bucky enjoyed it every bit as much as Clint had said he would, back when he'd first brought it up in Galveston (only to immediately smack his head and mumble about the violence and abusive relationships being too much for the both of them right then) and agreed that it had been best to wait because of some of the content. His mind was in a much better place now and he could deal with it.

 

~~|~~

 

Life in Bodega Bay was turning out to suit both Clint and Bucky quite well. They walked along the beach two or three times a day, and rented bicycles to travel around town because it was almost as quick as using the car and easier in so many other ways. Physical exertion did wonders for working off any nervous energy they were carrying around with them.

Memories were still trickling in slowly for Bucky, there wasn't much of a rhyme or reason for what returned and when. Sometimes it was memories of his family and life before the war, which was always bittersweet but helped him feel a little less broken. Other times it was things he had seen and done as the Soldier. At his worst moments recalling those, Clint was always nearby with a steady presence and comforting shoulder. Bucky wrote all of it down in his notebooks: the good, the bad, the terrible. Between that and talking about it (or not talking as the case sometimes was) he was beginning to adjust towards some semblance of normal. What the shape of his new normal might be he wasn't sure yet, but he thought he was getting a general feel for it.

Perhaps the fact that Clint was beginning to talk more was helping him, because Bucky was sure there was less tension in his eyes and the set of his shoulders. His smiles were more sincere and frequent. He was more _present_ in their interactions, even the quiet ones. 

Whenever they ate out, they ended up running into one of the locals they knew, a number that was growing despite them keeping to themselves a majority of the time. And word of mouth within the local community had the locals referring to them as 'Eloise's boys' which had Clint confused but which Bucky found hilarious.

All in all, things were looking up.

 

~~|~~

 

“I want to try something,” Bucky said, voice a little breathless as he pulled back to study Clint's face. Clint nodded and tried to lean in for another kiss, brow furrowing when Bucky dodged. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” Clint replied and this time Bucky let the kiss happen, keeping it slow and soft, which made Clint whine, his hips shifting restlessly. They'd been kissing for what felt like hours, Bucky revving things up and then backing off, slowly building towards something despite the fact that they both still had all of their clothing on.

“I'd like to fuck you, if that's alright with you,” he said, watching carefully as Clint swallowed and blew out a breath. “I think you'd like that too,” He cupped Clint's erection through his pants. No rubbing, just the constant, steady pressure of his hand resting lightly on top of it.

“Bucky...” Clint's voice was a soft whimper, his hips twitching as he fought his instincts to grind up against Bucky's hand.

“Use your words, Clint” He ghosted his lips over Clint's, a tease more than a kiss. “Tell me what you want, darlin'.”

“You?” Clint bit his lip when Bucky simply raised a brow. “I want you.”

“Good,” he replied, giving a friendly squeeze and kissing Clint as he hissed out a breath. “What do you want me to do?”

“You uh, you getting a little Dominant with me, Buck?”

“A little – is that alright?” It wasn't anything close to a real Dom/sub relationship as Bucky could recall them to be, but he was hoping to invoke just enough of that to help Clint enjoy himself. Because he was pretty certain that if Clint just let someone else take control, someone he trusted, that things would work a little better for him.

Things had been getting progressively heavier between the two of them at night. They'd yet to be naked together, neither had come, but they kept getting closer and closer.

“It uh,” Clint licked his lips. “It certainly works for me.” He smiled crookedly at Bucky. “I can be subby as fuck for the right person – but that's not entirely what this is about, is it?”

Bucky kissed along Clint's jaw. “Love how fucking perceptive you are.” He bit his way down Clint’s neck. “Maybe someday we can revisit that idea, do things properly if we want.” Because if Clint was willing, Bucky thought he'd look amazing all tied up for him. “But for now, right now, I wanna help you feel good.”

“Gonna heal me with your cock?” Clint asked and Bucky chuckled against him, knocking their foreheads together, his hand slipping off of Clint's erection so he could stabilize himself. The disappointed noise Clint made in reply did all sorts of good things for Bucky's ego.  
“That's not what I meant.” Bucky’s face crinkled up.

“I know,” Clint replied, stroking hair out of Bucky's face. “I want to have sex with you, have for a very long time now. But my brain-”

“-is a little messed up,” they both said, sharing a smile because it was true for the both of them.

“I want to give that to you.”

Bucky shook his head and said, “I need you to want it for yourself,” as he began lifting himself off of Clint. Maybe this still wasn't the best idea, and it wasn't like they didn't have plenty of time. They had nowhere to be, nothing much to do.

“No no no no, Buck - Bucky...” Clint followed him, using Bucky's momentum to end up on top of him.  
In one glorious movement, his shirt came off and was flung to the side, and Bucky was staring up at the bare expanse of Clint's chest. With Clint guiding his metal hand, Bucky flicked open the button of Clint’s fly, then slid his hand around Clint’s waist, watching goosebumps trailing after the cool metal. He dipped his hand under the waistband and began to stroke Clint’s ass as he leaned in. “Help me feel good, please? I wanna be yours.” He pressed kisses to Bucky's lips. “Wanna feel you inside me.”

Bucky surged up into a biting kiss, flipping them back over and groaning as Clint wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist, grinding up against him.

“I want to let go Bucky, help me let go.” He hadn't known what he was waiting for, to see something in Clint's face, to hear something in his voice...but at that moment Bucky just knew and everything slotted into place and felt right.

“I don't want to bind you, can you keep your hands up here for me?” He asked, raising Clint's arms above his head and kissing him deep and thorough as a reward when Clint nodded eagerly. Bucky enjoyed the way Clint's hands tightened against his metal one, how amazing Clint's arms looked as he strained briefly against the hold then relaxed when Bucky released him. “No touching yourself, no touching me until I say so, okay?”

Clint bit his lip and nodded.

Bucky raised himself into kneeling position, Clint's legs falling down and off of him as he did so. He closed his eyes for a moment and rocked his hips against Clint's, their erections rubbing together again through far too many layers, though that was fine for now. Bucky had plans, plans that could derail if he got ahead of himself, which would be all too easy if he got lost in the slide of skin against skin, enjoyable though that would be.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured, eyes open again as he leaned up to trail his fingers down Clint's arms, then his chest. Bucky shifted so he could lean down and lick along the trail of hair low on Clint's belly, ducking into his navel, smiling against his skin at the way it made Clint gasp and curse.

“I wanna do so many dirty things to you.” Bucky pressed open mouth kisses to Clint's abs, then pecs, as he kissed his way up Clint's body. “And so many dirty things with you.” Bucky finished his journey with a kiss to Clint's jaw and looked him in the eye until Clint lifted his head to meet Bucky's lips in a hard kiss, all teeth and tongue.

“Tell me about them?” Clint's gasped breathlessly and Bucky couldn't help but smirk as he replied.

“If you're good, maybe I will.” He'd probably end up whispering them into Clint's ears regardless, just to see his reaction. Clint let out a moan as he stroked him through his pants. “So responsive, I like that,” Bucky said, lowering the zipper agonizingly slowly.

“You do?” Clint was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as Bucky eased his jeans down, lifting his hips so they could slide off.

“So much, darlin',” Bucky replied, tracing his finger in an outline around Clint's erection, still trapped in his underwear, transfixed by how Clint's hips shifted to follow, seeking more pressure. “If you really don't want to make noise you don't have to...” He shrugged. “But I can't deny it's an ego boost for me. That I get a thrill from it.” He slid his metal hand in and stroked Clint from base to tip, sucking a kiss into the long line of Clint’s neck as he threw his head back and moaned out a low, _“fuck.”_ “Mmm – that's the idea darlin',” Bucky breathed into his ear before easing back up.

“But you - you're so quiet,” Clint managed to pant out as Bucky lazily stroked him, briefs pulled down just enough to expose Clint’s cock.

It gave Bucky pause. He hadn't really noticed if he'd been overly quiet while they'd made out before, or during Clint's previous attempts at giving him head, and he couldn't actually recall how vocal he'd been during sex in his previous life.

“I just – oh God, do that again – I want to know – fuck yes – know you're enjoying yourself.” Clint stuttered, getting lost in the feeling of Bucky's hand on him.

“I am,” Bucky promised, rolling his hips against Clint's leg, humming in satisfaction as Clint's eyes brightened at the feel and sound of it. “But I'll work on it.”

Clint let out a whine when Bucky slipped off the bed, his hands twitching above his head like he wanted to reach out for him, but he behaved, bottom lip ending up between his teeth again as he watched Bucky strip his shirt and pants off, leaving them both in just their underwear.

“Look what you do to me without even touching me,” Bucky said, running his hands down his own torso to pull Clint's gaze to his chest, before stretching the fabric over his erection. Clint tracked the damp spot of pre-come which darkened Bucky's underwear. Bucky reveled in how Clint licked his lips like he couldn't wait to get his mouth on Bucky, and how his breathing changed as he took in the visible signs of Bucky's arousal. “See how much I want you?”

“I want to touch you,” Clint growled as Bucky skipped over removing his own briefs, slipping Clint's off instead before climbing back on top of him. “When can I touch you?”

“Soon darlin', soon.” Their lips slotted together perfectly, Clint arching up into Bucky, touching him with every bit of skin he could as they kissed. Eventually, Bucky gentled the kiss to skim his hand down Clint's side. Enjoying the pleased noise Clint made – and the huff of annoyance when Bucky pulled away again to grab the lube.

“I thought a lot about what we might try tonight,” he said conversationally, lifting one of Clint's legs to press a kiss to his knee, sliding his fingers along his thigh as he shifted it to give himself more room. “Debated rimming you.” He circled Clint's hole with the tip of a lubed finger as he leaned down to bring their faces closer together. “Would you have liked that, Clint?” Bucky asked against his lips. Clint nodded, beyond words, and Bucky nipped at his bottom lip. “Use your words, darlin'. Do you want me to eat you out next time?” He slipped a finger inside Clint as he asked, the moan that earned him going straight to his groin.

“Fuck. Yes, fuck, fuck, Bucky, _yes!_ ”

Bucky swallowed any other words Clint might have tried to say in a deep kiss as he worked a finger inside him, sliding in and out with steady pressure, then adding a second as soon as the ring of muscle started to give way.

“Oh, shit!” Clint's eyes rolled back in his head and he arched off the bed as Bucky found his prostate, letting out a delicious moan that had Bucky sternly reminding himself that his plans necessitated taking things slowly and that he couldn't just rip his own briefs out of the way and slide inside Clint like he wanted to at that moment. He must have paused too long in an effort to regain his composure, however, because the next thing he knew Clint was clenching down around him with a smug little grin that pulled him right back into the moment.

“Do you think I could make you come just like this?” Bucky asked Clint, not really giving him a chance to answer as he circled his prostate again. The fact that Clint's mouth was open as if to moan but no sound came out was hotter than Bucky could have imagined.

“I think, may-maybe?” Clint replied when he'd gotten his voice back. “Be f—f—fuuuuck...be fun to try.” Clint made an effort at scowling at Bucky for the teasing, but it didn't work so well with how turned on he looked otherwise: the bloom of red on his face and chest, the steady pool of pre-come leaking onto his stomach, the way his abs rippled and his hips twitched as he adjusted to bear down on Bucky's fingers.

“Me-metal hand!” Clint bit out between pants and groans. “I'd want you to finger-fuck me with the metal hand.”

“Shit!” Now it was Bucky's turn to be knocked speechless as heat punched him in the stomach at the idea of his metal fingers stroking in and out of Clint like that. Next time. Jesus fuck, next time.

“Turnabout's fair play,” Clint purred, lips curling in satisfaction, never mind how his pupils were blown all black, and that's what did Bucky control in.

The kiss Bucky pressed to Clint's lips was brutal and smothered Clint's disappointed noise of loss when Bucky's fingers slid out of him so he could yank his briefs down. He paused for a second afterwards, asked “Condom?” To which Clint rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Bucky proceeded to smear lube over his cock while kissing Clint senseless again. He pulled back from the kiss and paused briefly while Clint blinked his eyes open so their eyes met and locked, making the moment seem somehow all the more erotic as Bucky guided himself by feel and slid into Clint.

Their panting breaths mingled once he began a slow in and out rocking pace and Bucky spared a brief thought about the lack of protection. He'd been clean before the war, hadn't had time to fool around during, and then of course, he'd been celibate or on ice for sixty-odd years after he'd fallen so he didn't think he had anything. And as for Clint...well Bucky wasn't sure he could even pick anything up from him with the serum and all – and a small part of him honestly didn't care if he did anyway, something he'd ignore for the moment and look at later.

“Bucky, Bucky, can I? God, Bucky, please?” The muscles of Clint's arms were twitching with the effort of holding them in place.

“Go ahead.” And suddenly Clint's hands were raking up and down his back, one fisting hard into his hair as they kissed again--sloppy and uncoordinated and perfect.

“Fuck! Harder, baby, harder! Please?” Clint's hands switched to gripping Bucky's ass tight, pulling them flush together and Bucky obliged. Clint moved easily with him, shifting his hips so Bucky could increase the pace, drive into him harder, bring them both closer and closer until they both crested over the tipping point, spilling into and on one another with a shout and a sigh. And coming down from the high, all slow and sweet, Bucky was surprised to realize he'd been the more vocal of the two as they shook through their orgasms.

Eventually he slipped out of Clint and tipped to the side, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, feeling the beating of his heart slowly begin to return to normal. He chuckled to himself when he discovered his boxer-briefs were still dangling off of one leg and he kicked aimlessly until they dropped to the floor.

“We,” Clint cleared his throat and Bucky turned to face him. Fucked out and satisfied was a damn good look on Clint, Bucky thought, and he reached a hand over to touch his chest as if that would somehow convey the message. Something must've gotten through because it took a second before Clint spoke. “We should,” he paused again. “Do that again. Soon,” he finished at the same time Bucky offered, “Clean up.”

They smiled into a kiss that was as gentle as they had been frantic not too long ago. “Both.” Bucky said. “Both is good.”

“Clean up now, more sex later?” Clint asked in reply.

“I mean yeah – unless somehow refractory periods have changed in the past seventy years.” Bucky said as he rolled onto his side and off the bed to fetch a washcloth.

“They haven't really--doesn't mean we can't try though.” Clint teased with a waggle of his eyebrows, then squawked indignantly a moment later when Bucky tossed the wet washcloth at his face. They laughed and wrestled briefly before they took turns cleaning each other up and the finally settled back into the bed to pass out, sated and happy.

 

~~

 

The following morning Bucky was spooned up behind Clint, morning wood nestled against Clint's ass. He was surprised when Clint shifted his hips back with a little sigh, tugging Bucky's hand down to his own erection and tilting his head to breathe out “C'mon in.”

Bucky paused for a moment before dissolving into a fit of laughter against Clint's neck. For his part, Clint pouted only briefly before cracking up as well.

“C'mon in? Really?” He still reached his hand down to give Clint's balls a fondle.

“I haven't had enough sleep to be sexy?” Clint said, though Bucky was pretty sure he was a little distracted so it came out as a question. “'Sides, seems to me you wanna,” and he wiggled his ass against Bucky.

He wasn't wrong, and thanks to the night before, it didn't take much prep before Bucky was sliding into Clint once more, the two of them rocking together in near silence save for a few gasps and grunts. Those were joined by the sounds of the slide of their hands on Clint's erection, their hips coming together faster and harder, and then soft exhalations when they both came.

They shared lazy kisses in between taking turns in the shower, Bucky going first so he could make his way out to the kitchen to begin breakfast preparations. It wasn't too long before Clint was pressing up against him from behind, sliding his arms around Bucky's waist and inhaling deeply as he pressed a kiss to his neck. It shouldn't have felt any different, they'd been all up in each other’s space even before Bucky had taken the step to kiss Clint back in the Grand Canyon, but somehow it did. Maybe it was because Clint was a little less tense?

Maybe it was because he now knew what Clint looked and sounded like when he finally allowed himself to let go and experience pleasure.

 

~~

 

Later that evening, after a day of lazing around the house and playing on the beach, they lay curled together on the porch watching the sun sink below the horizon. Bucky couldn't help but wonder if Andy and Red had the right idea. Running away to a little spot on the coast, no one to answer to but themselves.

Maybe retiring was something they should consider. And sure, atoning for sins was important and something they both wanted to do, had thought they probably needed to do. But maybe, just maybe, they'd both given enough. Maybe they'd even given too much.

Maybe they deserved to have something good for a change.

 

~~|~~

 

Eloise came by on the morning of the eleventh to check on the two of them and the house, see if they needed anything. She also reminded Bucky that they had the place until Sunday, and made gentle inquiries as to whether or not they might want it for longer.

Bucky had replied that he wasn't certain yet, and that he'd discuss it with Clint. They were both comfortable here and were enjoying themselves. In the back of his mind, Bucky knew they would have to move on soon, just for safety sake, but he was reluctant to give up the peace they'd managed to find. He liked to think Clint felt similarly, but he hadn't yet asked him. Hadn't mentioned to him his revelation from a few days ago that he could very well be happy to settle here, or maybe in a similar little beach side town.

They'd taken to the road out of desperation at first, needing to get away from a threat, get to a place of safety. From very early on however, it had been clear that they were not only trying to find physical safety, but also a measure of mental and emotional comfort as well. Their own demons had proved to be just as dangerous as the perceived threat of the Organization. And slowly as they had run, and paused, then run some more, they'd managed to find that healing in each other. Were finding that healing, because he'd be stupid to think either of them was anywhere near “better” (whatever the hell that meant) .

As comfortable as this place was, how good staying here had been for them so far, Bucky knew that by lingering, he and Clint were potentially putting the local people in danger. He might not be able to recall who the Organization was, but he knew in his bones they'd eventually find Bucky somehow. That they wouldn't stop until they had him back.

They'd have to leave. But that didn't mean that they couldn't come back.

 

~~

 

After Eloise had left, Bucky poured himself another cup of coffee and retreated to the porch to lean against the railing. As he settled in, his gaze swept out towards the ocean, though the waves were not what caught his attention. Clint was standing on top of one of the grassy hills that lead to the bluff. He was wearing one of the oversized sweaters Bucky had picked up from a thrift shop during the first few days they'd been in town. Technically it belonged to Bucky, but somehow he would manage only a day in each sweater before Clint suddenly commandeered it; claiming Bucky's were much warmer than his.

It was a ruse, Bucky knew, because as long as Bucky wore one of “Clint's”, Clint was fine with wearing it after him. It was silly, really, wearing something only because it smelled like the man of his affections, but he was guilty of it too – because after Clint had worn things, Bucky took them back so he could enjoy Clint's scent on the fabric. At some point he'd have to wash them all, and that would be a sad day for everyone.

Bucky watched Clint as he stared out over the ocean, wondering as many a man before him, what his lover was thinking about at that moment. What sort of clarity was the ocean offering him. For Bucky, it was shockingly simple. He was in love with Clint Barton. Wholly and completely – not really sure now what he'd do without him – in love.

The kind of love from books and films, where it happens so quickly and so completely you aren't sure it would ever be possible in real life – until it happens to you.

He hadn't decided when or how he was going to tell Clint. Truth be told Bucky was a bit nervous to do so, because the depth of his feelings frightened _him_ , and he couldn't imagine how nervous Clint would be. Clint – who so rarely had been shown true affection by the ones he loved. Who doubted people's feelings for him because of it. It would be difficult, but Bucky wanted to be the exception to that rule. He knew he'd wait for however long it took for Clint to realize that.

“Whatcha thinking about, gorgeous?” Clint asked as he made his way onto the porch. Bucky smiled and accepted the quick press of lips against his, and allowed Clint to grab his mug of coffee for a long gulp.

Bucky wanted to tell Clint about how he just wanted to stop and live here with him and not pay attention to anything else in the world but the two of them being happy and healing. But he knew it wasn't the right time for that. It was probably too much for Clint. It was certainly too much when they still had to figure out what to do about the the lingering threat the Organization posed.

 

~~

 

Later that evening as the sweat cooled from their bodies, Bucky shifted to stroke his left hand down the side of Clint's face, cupping his chin and passing his thumb over his lips before pressing a gentle kiss to them. “I love you,” he said softly, unexpected even to himself, especially after just this afternoon thinking it might not be the right time to share the sentiment. But Bucky found he didn't want to take the words back even as he watched Clint's eyes widen. “It's okay.” Another brush of lips. “It's okay if you don't feel that way, or if you might, but can't or don't know how to say it.”

“Bucky, I...” Clint's eyes were wet with tears, unshed for now, but present.

“Shhh...” This kiss was firmer than the others, and Bucky was pleased to see a little of the nervousness leave Clint's eyes. “I love you, and I just… I needed you to know that. I needed to say it.”

“I wish...” And Clint was the one to lean close for the next kiss, pouring out the feelings he couldn't manage to voice but could at least express this way. And when they pulled apart, Bucky felt wetness on his cheek where Clint's tears had fallen as they kissed. He looked so fragile, nervous but hopeful at the same time.

“You'll get there, darlin' You'll get there.” Another gentle brush of lips. “We'll get there.”

 

~~|~~

 

Bucky surged awake, glancing around wildly, adrenaline pumping, body primed and ready for a fight. There were no enemies in the room however. If there were, Clint wouldn't be snuffling gently in his sleep beside him. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hands against his face as if that would somehow help him keep everything inside. Stop him from feeling like the floor had vanished from beneath him.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts before heading onto the porch. To his right he saw the diffuse glow and a few twinkling lights from the town. Stretched out ahead of him was the dark expanse of the ocean, the light of the waning half moon reflecting and refracting on the water. It was strangely familiar, and he was angry that everything still looked the same when he now knew that nothing of the sort was true.

“Buck?” Clint's voice carried softly over to him as he stepped silently onto the porch, but he didn't respond, and his stomach sank when Clint ran a hand up his back and down his arm as if to soothe him. Because all he wanted to do was sink into Clint's warmth. Lose time in his embrace. But that wasn't going to be possible now, not really. Not the way he wanted.

“I know the name of the Organization.” Bucky said, not recognizing his own voice. The bitter, angry, quality to it. Next to him Clint's posture straightened, his expression was worried. “The people that captured me. That made me.” He held his hands above the railing, palms up. Hands that he then squeezed into fists.

_You are to be the new fist of..._

“It was Hydra.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Clint states that he feels what Loki did to him was not rape, though it very much was, because he is uncomfortable calling it that. 
> 
> The boys also exercise some questionable judgement by having unprotected sex. Not a ton of discussion occurs in the heat of the moment, but it was very much a consensual choice and they had spoken about it "off screen" as well.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

“Hydra.” Clint voice was oddly flat. It sounded terrible to Bucky's ears. 

“I thought – I thought they essentially dissolved after the Red Skull was defeated. Smaller groups with squabbling leaders that made it self destruct. That the last bits got swept up not long past the end of the war.”

“Cut off one head,” Bucky laughed bitterly. Jesus fuck, everything they'd worked for.

“But wasn't it the Soviets that found you? How'd that work out?”

“They did, and they had primary custody of me.” He’d been kept in Siberia most of the time too. One part secrecy, one part safety.

“But despite Stalin's...Stalin-ness some members of Hydra found sanctuary and grew within the Soviet Union,” Clint concluded with a shake of his head. They'd moved back into the house, and he was puttering around the kitchen now, making a pot of coffee because what else was there to do? It was probably comforting for him, and Bucky figured drinking some wouldn't hurt.

It wasn't like he, or really they, were getting more sleep that night.

“From what I can recall now – yeah. That's a good enough summary.” Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck. There were still things that didn't completely fit. That didn't feel like it was everything. Something was still missing. Some critical piece. What hadn't he recalled yet?

“And just like the Neo-Nazis it's sadly not difficult to think that they managed to regrow as an organization in other countries.” Clint brought over a cup of coffee and placed it in front of Bucky then gently brushed Bucky's hands away to settle his own on his neck and upper back, massaging gently at the tense muscles.

A part of Bucky wanted to swat Clint's hands away even though he leaned back into the blissful warmth of Clint's body and closed his eyes at how wonderful his hands felt working out that tension. Part of him felt like the discomfort was more fitting, that he couldn't – shouldn't be relaxing after that realization. He should be doing something. Fighting back somehow. Something besides just sitting there.

“What's our next move then?” Clint asked, hands sliding off as he sat at the table to Bucky's right.

“Our?”

“If you think you're going to do whatever it is you're thinking of doing alone, you're not as smart as you think you are.” Clint said, punctuating the comment with a sip of his coffee.

“Clint – I can't ask you to do this.”

“Then don't ask. I volunteer. I'm going with you.” When Bucky's face remained stony, he added. “It's that or I follow you around like an idiot so – might as well let me actually help you.”

The thing of it was though, that this wasn't Clint's fight, not really. He still had his own demons to deal with.

“Hey – there's this line about the only way that evil wins is for good men to stand by and do nothing. It's probably way more eloquent than that and, honestly, I'm not that good of a man. But I'll be damned if I let a secret Nazi organization that's making brainwashed super-soldiers and who knows what else to take over the world continue operating while I stand around doing nothing.”

“Fuck, Clint.” Bucky shook his head as his heart felt like it wanted to burst. The world didn't deserve Clint Barton. He probably didn't deserve Clint either, but at least he was trying.

“You're wrong on one thing.”

“Oh?”

“You are a good man. One of the best I know.” When Clint opened his mouth as if to argue Bucky held his finger against it. “No arguing. We need to plan what we're going to do. Figure out where to start.” He kept his finger in place as Clint made a face, then took it away when he finally rolled his eyes in concession.

“I think I have an idea on that,” Clint replied, and Bucky found himself smiling for the first time since he'd woken up because Clint's grin and the look in his eyes promised trouble.

 

~~|~~

 

On the face of it, Clint's idea was pretty simple. There was a small auxiliary – not exactly a base but more of an archive really, an annex, of SHIELD located in Seattle. They'd break in at night, copy what they could of the information stored there, and get out and into the mountains where they'd go through the files looking for clues. It wasn't much, but it was more than Bucky had been able to suggest. They spent the rest of the thirteenth packing up house and making their goodbyes, leaving bright and early the next morning.

They stopped for the night in the city of Medford Oregon, because as it just so happened, Clint had a safe house with a small cache of weapons and other useful items there. Bucky had raised an eyebrow but said nothing more when Clint had said 'old habits' by way of explanation. He might have been mostly secure in his place within SHIELD but yeah – there was a part of him that had expected something bad to go down at some point.

“ _It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you,_ ” Natasha would say and fuck he couldn't help but realize just how much he missed her. She would've had a better idea than steal some information and go from there, he was certain she would.

She'd also be able to help him figure out what to do about his feelings for Bucky.

They tried to have sex that night, but Clint hadn't really been able to get into it and Bucky had given Clint a pained look when he offered to help Bucky get himself off. It kinda felt like they'd lost some of the ground they'd made in Bodega Bay.

 

~~|~~

 

“See that building over there?” Clint asked after they had done a security sweep of their hotel room. They hadn't expected to find anything, and they didn't, but you couldn't be too careful. Bucky pressed up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. It was nice.

“Mmhmm.”

“That's it. Well – the twentieth and twenty-first floors anyway.”

“Isn't that one of the Amazon buildings?”

“Yup. It's a good cover too. They already have the labyrinthal elevator setup going on, so no one would really think it's strange that you need keys to get to some floors or that only certain elevators go there, because they already had the system in place. 

“And I imagine Amazon doesn't mind any additional security either.”

“Nor the monetary kickback.”

“How we getting in?”

“Well, a few months ago it would've been no problem, I could just swipe us in with my clearance, but seeing as I'm dead now...” Clint shrugged. Nat could probably hack the system, but he wasn't Nat. He could only handle some of the security procedures, and that was if they hadn't changed anything within the last two months.

Realistically, even if they had managed to get the Council to agree to upgrades they probably wouldn't have reached this annex yet – it was small and unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

“I'm thinking the roof,then the elevator shaft. There's some security but we should be able to bypass it easily enough.”

“Sounds good to me.” Bucky said. “Any recon possible beforehand? Even if just the lobby?”

“The facial recognition will spot me in about two seconds. Only a mask would work and that wasn't something I thought to stash back at the house.”

“Anything that will pick up my arm?” Bucky asked. “Enhanced metal detectors? It can fool basic ones pretty easily.”

“Not gonna lie – that's pretty fucking cool, but I am not sure we should risk it. There is always a chance the recognition software will pick up your face.”

“I thought the Winter Soldier was a ghost story, even to SHIELD.”

“Well yeah, but...I still don't want to risk it.” I don't want to chance you getting into trouble, he didn't say but something in his expression must have given it away because Bucky's eyes met his and he nuzzled in against Clint's chin.

“Okay then. No recon on the lobby. Might've been pointless anyway.” And Bucky probably only said that to make Clint feel better. Sadly, it did. “So what do you need me to do when we do go in?”

 

~~

 

He was fidgeting with the phone, turning it over and over on the table. It was a bad idea. It was a very bad idea right before an op. But he just...he needed Nat. Wanted to hear her voice, see if she was okay. Tell her he was okay...and about to do something stupid. Really, situation normal for them, if he was honest.

“You should call her,” Bucky said and Clint jerked in guilt, flip phone clattering to the floor. “Your Natasha. That's why you keep playing with this, right?” He'd bent down to grab the phone to hand back to Clint.

“It's not a great idea.” He replied. “Calling another agent right before we break into an annex to steal some files. Not a good idea at all.”

“But she isn't just another agent, is she?”

“No,” Clint shook his head. “She isn't.”

“You love her.” Bucky said and Clint opened his mouth to spit out something about how he did, but not the same way, when he continued with: “She's your family. Your Steve.”

Well fuck, if that wasn't the perfect way to describe Natasha and his relationship. In many ways it was the same relationship Bucky had with Steve, at least from his understanding of it. Though Clint was pretty sure Bucky and Natasha were the responsible ones of the two pairs. And that left Clint being the same as Steve in the friendships...he wasn't entirely comfortable with the comparison, already having mentioned to Bucky more than once that he wasn't anywhere near the same caliber of person as Steve.

 

~~

 

He didn't even know if she was still using the number he had programmed into this phone. Someone was, or at least it connected anyway, ringing three times before he hung up – the initial part of the signal they'd set up. His hand was shaking, he noted as he pushed the redial button and brought the phone back up to his ear.

There was a click as the phone was answered, though silence was all that met his ear.

Clint let out a shaky breath, too scared to be the one to make the first move to talk. Too worried that he'd be hung up on or that someone else might be monitoring the line.

“Whoever it is mouth-breathing into the phone better have a damn good reason for using that number.” Natasha's voice said and Clint felt his legs give out in relief. His landing was heavy and awkward and the noise he made was half laugh half sob.

“Tasha.”

“Yastreb?” And she sounded – shocked, more so than he'd ever heard her allow herself to sound.

“Yeah, it's me. It's me, Nat. I'm...it's me.” He sniffed past his tears as he was met with another bout of silence, then a string of very impressive, and heartfelt curses. Clint couldn't help but smile despite the crying as Natasha went on her tirade. He didn't, he hadn't known – he might have hoped though – that she would have been so concerned.

“You told me you've never leave me like that, Yastreb.” And fuck, _fuck_ , that wasn't fake. She was hurt by what he'd done. He'd hurt one of the few people in the world that he loved and loved him back.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Nat. I didn't. I couldn't-”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I wanted to be.” He said, voice sounding so small. So quiet. “I'm sorry Nat, but I couldn't do it.” He hoped she would understand he meant he couldn't feel he could go on.

“We found the phone. We heard the message. But there was no body. I don't do hope, Clint, you know that.”

“But you do do suspicion.”

“Tony couldn't find any trace of you.”

“Tony huh? What happened to calling him Stark?”

“Don't change the subject, Yastreb. Are you okay?”

“In a manner of speaking, yeah.” She snorted at him and he smiled again. “I'm good. Or at least, better than I was.”

“Where are you?”

“I can't tell you that, Nat.” She cursed a little, muffled as if her hand was held to her face. Trying to keep something from someone else in the room with her maybe? “Your new BFF Tony isn't tracing this is he?”

“No, he isn't. Should he be though? Who has you?” And okay maybe he shouldn't have asked that if it had her on guard so quickly.

“No one – no one has me.” He could hear her rolling her eyes. “It's...I'm with someone, but it's my choice.”

Natasha cursed again.

“He saved me, okay? And I'm. I'm trying to help to save him too.”

“Are you fucking some rando? Yastreb?”

“He's not a rando.” He heard her snort.

“He...he's amazing, Nat.” He was...he was slowly becoming Clint's entire world.

“I think, I'm pretty sure that I love him, Nat.” And hey, he sounded more than a little scared when he said that. Like it was something too big, too important, how could he possibly manage to figure it out and express it, but he had to tell her. She had to know.

“Shit, you do, don't you?” And Natasha's voice was like a balm, because she could read him better than anyone else. Sometimes, most of the time if he was honest, she knew him better than he knew himself.

“I do. I really do.” Natasha heard the tears in his voice and her next words were softly uttered Russian to soothe him.

“You wouldn't just call me to tell me that.” And that was Natasha – only touching on the emotion before cutting back to the chase. “What's going on, Yastreb?”

“We...we found out something.” He breathed into the phone for a beat, then another. “Nat...Hydra is still around. They're still active, just in hiding, waiting...”

“Waiting for what?”

“I don't know.”

“You're certain about this?”

“He wouldn't lie.

“Clint – it's only been a few months.” And they both knew how easily he fell. How his feelings could cloud things. How it also had only been a few months since Loki.

“Trust me. He wouldn't lie. Not about this.”

“You'd need proof.” Because she could tell Nick, but in order for them to do anything about it they needed more than Clint's word. More than Bucky's.

“That's what we're trying to do.”

“You're going to do something stupid?

“Me? Never.”

“Be careful, Yastreb.”

“I love you too.”

Then the call was over.

 

~~

 

The night before the night of the mission Clint fucked Bucky against the window of their room, too nervous to keep eye contact unless it was via reflection but needing it, needing to see Bucky come undone for him, all the same.

 

~~

 

The mission was almost laughable in its ease. The two of them getting in via the roof, rappelling down the elevator shaft and slipping into the SHIELD floors with ease. Bucky, as it turned out, was just as good with computers as Natasha so it was Clint that ended up keeping watch while Bucky hacked the system to download a copy of the digital archives they held.

Even though they wore dark masks covering their faces and hair, Bucky was also able to delete the camera footage of the two of them – though he did caution that a digital footprint might still remain depending on any hidden or off site physical backups. They were in and out in no time. Didn't even encounter a guard. Clint was so relieved it had all gone well to wonder if it had been too easy.

 

~~|~~

 

One moment everything was fine. Clint had just handed Bucky a glass of water and turned back around to grab the plate of fruits and veggies for them to snack on while they were combing through the files searching for leads. It was the same thing they'd been doing for the past several days now since they'd departed Seattle; when there was a pop and the crunch of breaking glass. He whirled back around to see Bucky's metal hand dripping water and grasping the remains of the glass he'd just squeezed too hard.

“Bucky? Clint pulled the shards from his hand and tossed them to the side, they didn't need a tiny fragment getting into his prosthetic and causing problems, and edged his way in to get face to face with him.

“Bucky, hey...” He looked completely lost. Devastated. Like his entire world had come crashing down around him. Clint carefully placed a hand to the side of his face, caressing lightly. “Baby, what happened?

Bucky’s eyes didn't meet Clint's. Didn't look up at all. Lost in whatever he was seeing in his mind.

“Bucky? Bucky, please talk to me. What happened? What did you see?” Anxiety coiled around Clint like a cloud, making it hard to draw breath. Narrowing his focus. This was similar to how he'd been after the WWII Museum. When he'd been mostly unresponsive and lost in his memories for hours as Clint had driven them away from NOLA and berated himself for not keeping a better eye on Yasha/Bucky, for not having gone with him, anticipated it would have been a potential issue.

How had he failed Bucky this time?

“C'mon, baby, please?” Clint pressed his forehead against Bucky's, hands stroking his hair before cradling the sides of his face. “Please come back to me.” Clint had no idea what would happen if, no, not if – when, _when_ Bucky snapped from the reverie. If he'd be the Bucky Clint knew and lov- Or if he'd be something else again. If some part of the Soldier would pop up once more.

If he'd be dangerous.

Not that Clint cared about that – he'd stick with Bucky no matter what. Dangerous or not. Regressed into the Soldier or still himself, Clint would be there to pick up any pieces. To help Bucky put himself back together.

Bucky took in a deep gasping breath, like he'd been underwater too long, and Clint nearly sobbed in relief as his hands tightened to the point of pain when they suddenly gripped Clint’s arms.

“Clint,” Bucky croaked, and Clint practically beamed at him like he hung the sun and stars.

“That's me.”

“Shit.” The exclamation was heartfelt for all its brevity.

“Agreed.” Clint replied.

“How long?”

“Not too long, baby.” Bucky's gorgeous gray-blue eyes met Clint's with a guilty but grateful look. “What happened?”

“Memories. I remembered more again. That picture...” Clint craned his neck a little, still not managing to catch a look at the laptop until Bucky let go of his arms with a stutter in his grip. A wounded sound came from his mouth as he saw how hard he'd been gripping Clint.

Clint meanwhile, ignored the concern, turning to look at the laptop even if it meant his right arm was held at a weird angle. Bucky was cradling it gently to look at the marks his metal hand had left.

“Is that...” He scrolled the page to get a look at the caption. “Damn. That’s Pierce. He was Director for a little while in the 70's when Carter was wanting to devote herself to other projects. Think he might be on the Council now. He and Fury go back a ways from what Phil told me. I had no idea he looked-”

“So much like Steve?” Bucky cut in.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. And he and the rest of Hydra used that against me.”

“Wait wait wait...” Clint straightened himself up, resting his weight against the edge of the table to look at Bucky. He'd let go of Clint's arm and his face was grim. Stubborn.

“You're telling me Alexander Pierce, a former Director of SHIELD, is Hydra?”

“Yes.” Bucky's expression was still grim, but also miserable. “I'm telling you Hydra is SHIELD. Or at least a part of it.”

Clint's limbs felt like Jello, and he was pretty sure if he hadn't been resting part of his weight on the table he'd be on the floor. “Aww shit.” He laughed, though it came out a little more like a strangled sob. “Fuck. That's just perfect.”

It wasn't about him. Clint knew that. Knew it really _shouldn't_ be about him either, but fucking hell if that wasn't just his shit luck. If it didn't typify his life perfectly. He was working for an organization that was, in secret, being run by the people it was supposed to be fighting.

He'd been duped. Again.

But – he wasn't the only one to have been fooled. What would Natasha say if she found out she'd traded one shady organization for another? Or Fury, if he learned he'd been serving the wrong people his entire life? Or Director Carter… To learn her life's work, the organization she'd helped build, had been housing and nurturing the threat she'd been fighting against the whole time. The enemy she’d lost Steve to. That Steve had lost a century and his world to?

And to whom Bucky had lost his life - his soul and very being.

Clint raised his gaze to Bucky's face and struggled to put a name to the expression on it. He didn't hesitate however to cover Bucky’s hand with his own when Bucky placed it on his knee. The metal was cool and somehow calming.

“I've hurt you again.” Bucky said, voice quiet, somber, as he passed his thumb over a cut. His eyes flicked up to Clint's arms where he could still almost feel the press of fingers.

“S'just a scratch.” Clint replied. Bucky's brows knit together in a way that Clint knew meant he hadn't just been talking about the cut from the glass or the way he'd gripped his arms.

“You didn't, but...” He trailed off. They both knew it would be impossibly for Bucky to admit that. Bucky had told him the truth, it was SHIELD that had lied to him. SHIELD that had hurt him. Or at least – part of SHIELD had.

“I want to burn it to the ground for what they did to you. The lies they sold the rest of us. God.” For the first time since New York, Clint was almost glad Phil had been killed, because this admission, this revelation, would've kill him. He scrubbed his free hand over his face again before bouncing his knuckles against the table. “If Pierce is Hydra, who else might be? Who do we trust? How-”

“Clint.” Bucky's voice cut through the rising wave of anger and pain – the helpless frustration. “I can't ask you to do something like that.

“You don't have to ask – and like hell you're gonna stop me, so don't even try to say anything about not letting me either.”

“Stubborn,” Bucky said, and maybe it was wishful thinking on Clint's part, but maybe there was the hint of a smile at the edge of his lips.

“It's part of my charm and you love me for it.”

“I do.” And there was the smile that Clint loved, and well -

“I love you too.” It slipped out, easy as you please, and Clint felt the tips of his ears heat up even though he knew the feeling was reciprocated. Even though Bucky had all but just said it himself.

“Anyone tell you your timing is pretty terrible, Barton?” Bucky said, smiling despite that, and tugging on Clint's arms until he folded himself onto the chair with Bucky.

“A few times,” he replied, his own easy smile coming forth as Bucky's arms wrapped around his waist.

“More of that Barton charm?”

“Something like that.” Clint then raised a brow. “You know, I might end up bleeding on you, and I'm not sure this chair can handle the both of us.”

“Well I didn't have any sort of vigorous activity in mind...” Bucky slid one hand down to give Clint's ass a friendly grope, and they shared a laughing kiss before resting their foreheads together. “Not going to change your mind huh?”

“Nope.” Clint ran his hands up and down Bucky's back to try and soothe him. “You and me against the universe, remember?”

Bucky nodded and smiled, though it was a sad, wistful, smile. “It's just – I don't think I want to do that anymore. The killing. Even just the violence.” Clint pulled back a little so they could make proper eye contact. “Anyone comes for you they're going to open themselves up to a world of hurt,” Bucky said, running the knuckles of his metal hand against Clint's cheek. “But taking the fight to them? Striking first? I just don't know.”

The longer Bucky spoke about what he wanted - a quiet place for him and Clint, perhaps a cabin in the mountains or on the beach, maybe a cat and a dog - the more Clint felt like he was made of glass. Fragile and delicate, as if the slightest thing would send him to shattering. “You...” he swallowed past a lump in his throat, pressed his forehead against Bucky's, and squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of emotions. SHIELD and Hydra just a distant speck on the radar, overtaken by what Bucky had said he wanted. The future he hoped for.

Clint brought his hands up to the back of Bucky's neck, then brushed their lips together before pulling back and sliding his hands around to frame Bucky's face. His expression was so calm. So full of love, of surety, that Clint could barely breathe looking at him.

“No one's ever wanted that with me. Not for real. I don't...” He swallowed again, eyes stinging. “Even in SHIELD, I've never...” How the fuck did he explain this? “My future's never been a thing I've thought about much.” And Bucky just smiled at him, waiting him out. Aware that Clint sometimes had problems finding his words. “I guess maybe – maybe I've never outgrown thinking about it not really being a thing that could happen? That I'd be around for it – that anyone would want me.”

Clint had never had a normal life. He'd never even thought about having one. His life wasn't all bad, not really. He had a strange not-family, and he loved being able to help people, to save them – but given what he'd just heard...

“Then I’m just going to have to make it my job to make sure you remember every single day that I love you and I want you, and that I’m in this with you for as long as we have.”

Clint didn’t really have words for that. He couldn’t even figure out his feelings past ‘terrified’ and ‘exhilarated’ and ‘shocked, so he slipped off Bucky’s lap and tugged him over to the bed to try and express how he felt through actions.

 

~~|~~

 

The lead, if you could call it that, came a few days later while they were staying in Minnesota. It was in the newest batch of the most heavily encrypted files. This seemed a little strange, when at first glance the information itself didn't seem that sinister. Clint came across notes for something called Project Insight. It was very early days from the looks of it, though Pierce and Gideon Malick, another councilman, had been proponents of it for a while from what he could gather from what he was reading.

“So far it looks mostly like data mining,” Clint muttered as he began to reread everything in order to run his thoughts past Bucky. “A lot like Google does actually. Predictive behavior stuff.”

“Though an intelligence organization isn't going to be using it to curate the content of ads you're seeing,” Bucky said.

“Probably not, no.” He scanned over the next paragraph. “The government spying on the people isn't new by an stretch of the imagination.”

“So what is so special about this?” Bucky finished the thought for him and they fell into silence. “I've seen them mention an algorithm twice now,” he said from over Clint's shoulder.

“Yeah – that's what they're plugging all the information they're mining into.” And then Clint paused, his shoulders slumping. “What does the government usually listen for when it spies on its enemies?”

“Incriminating evidence that implicates someone in a crime or that they are going to attempt to commit a crime...to identify enemies of the state.” Bucky let out a hiss as his mind came to the same conclusion Clint's had.

“They're going to use Project Insight, whatever it is, to identify their enemies. Which is concerning and questionable enough if it was just SHIELD-”

“But now that we know Hydra is within SHIELD and that Pierce is a proponent of it-”

“Project Insight could potentially be a way for Hydra to identify enemies. Or potential enemies with that predictive algorithm.” They shared a look.

“I've got to tell Nat,” Clint said. Maybe this is what they needed, but as Bucky shook his head his heart fell. “It's still not enough is it?”

“It's a sketchy program, that much is clear, but that's not outside of SHIELD's parameters, is it?”

“Not really no.” He slumped back in the chair. “We still don't have anything concrete proving Hydra is a thing, nor that Pierce is a member of it.”

“Maybe we can find something out next week.” Bucky muttered as he leaned over Clint's shoulder. “The note at the end of the file.”

“Preliminary meetings for Project Insight including funding etc etc...to be held in Chicago on the 31st of July.” Clint glanced up at Bucky. “How do you feel about trying a Chicago style hot dog?”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

That's the Aon Center.” Clint nodded at the tall off-white building towering over its neighbors. They were staying a few blocks downriver at the Westin, and had just completed some preliminary scouting of the general area of Chicago. They were kept busy checking active and passive security under the guise of being two of the many tourists visiting.

“Good sight lines to it,” Bucky murmured as he came up behind Clint. “I shouldn't have any problems watching your six.” He patted Clint’s ass causing him to snort out a quick laugh.

“I feel safer already. I think.” They shared eye contact via their reflections in the window, silent nods of understanding. This was going to be difficult but not impossible.

“If we're lucky, the meeting will be on a floor within range of that spired building next to it. I could tether over if you need backup or a more...rapid exfiltration.”

“Should be able to find out tomorrow,” Clint replied. They'd located a few of the potential donors for the project and were going to question one of them tomorrow – and then copy his face and keep him tied up somewhere safe while Clint attended the meeting in his stead two days from now. He glanced at Bucky via the window again and turned around to fully face him

“You're making that face again.”

“What face?”

“That face that indicates you're going to say something I'm not going to like.” Bucky's eyebrows went up but then he nodded, conceding the point. He raised his hands to Clint's arms, stroking up and down from shoulder to elbow.

“You really should consider using the activation code-”

“Oh fucking hell, no – no way,” Clint stepped back and out of Bucky's reach.

“Clint – utilizing the Asset would give you a leg up on them.” Bucky's face was absurdly calm. Like he actually thought what he was suggesting was a good idea and not one of the most insane to downright stupid things Clint had ever heard. “I'd be under your control – they wouldn't be able to activate me themselves.”

“But they could use that shutdown code.” And Bucky tilted his head in concession.

“That's true, but, they'd have to figure out what was going on first. And I'm sure we could take them down before that happened. Or at least before anyone that knows the code would be able to.”

“Do you know everyone that has the code?”

“No. But it can't be that many. Perhaps a few more than know the activation code, just for safety sake on missions.”

“Right – exactly.” Clint took another step away, then another, bouncing his hand off of his leg to work off excess energy. “So maybe you wouldn't be able to take all of them out.”

“Clint-”

“Are you faster as the Soldier?”

“I don't know – maybe?”

“Maybe's not good enough.”

“I'm more ruthless – and that's faster.”

“I'm not going to be the one that makes you kill someone again. No fucking way.”

They had a very pointed conversation via nothing but tiny ticks in their expressions and judicial usage of their eyebrows before Clint broke.

“Please Bucky, please don't ask me to do that,” Clint whispered, voice rough.

“Okay,” Bucky nodded. “Okay darlin, I won't.”

 

~~|~~

 

Bucky let the strain on his legs center and focus him as he sat tucked into a corner of one of the chevrons in the spire of the Two Prudential Building. He'd been there for hours, in place well before Clint, wearing a mask and posing as an investor for Project Insight, had even gone into the Aon Center.

Despite his professionalism, Bucky had to admit it was easier to distance himself from what he was listening to with Clint's voice also changed. What wasn't easy was listening to Pierce's voice. His memories were still piecemeal, but certain words and tones caused him to have flashes from his time as the Soldier. Commands Pierce had given him. How he’d coax him one moment and bully him the next. It was hard to block it all out. Focus on the mission. If Clint hadn’t been there, he wasn’t certain he’d have been able to.

Speaking of... Bucky brought his full attention to bear when he saw through his scope that a group of armed men had entered the conference room.

“What's this?” He heard Clint say over the comm.

“Just a precaution, Mr. Dunn. Security is of the utmost importance to us you understand. Recently there was a break-in at one of our satellite locations.”

“What exactly does that have to do with any of us?” another potential investor questioned.

“Well, we just can't be too careful. And to that end we actually did some additional biometric screening when you entered the building. It's a new device for us, and none of you were aware of even being scanned.”

“I don't know what you're playing at, Pierce-”

“Oh you have nothing to worry about, Rajesh, you passed with flying colors.” And Bucky's heart sank as Pierce's gaze moved. “But Mr. Dunn on the other hand-”

There was a flurry of movement as Clint sprang into action, incapacitating the guards closest to him and making a break for the door before Pierce had even finished uttering his fake name. This was one of their contingency plans – if found out, Clint would make a break for it, shedding the mask and pieces of the outfit once he was clear of the conference room. Now he could ideally blend in and make it out unscathed. Barring that, they had extraction plans for both the floors above and below.

Clint made it to the door but no further as he suddenly jerked backwards, limbs flailing, and Bucky had to wince as the comm squealed in his ear from the electrical charge. He bit back a growl a moment later when another familiar face entered the room. Clint's comm was rebooting so he couldn't make out what Clint said, though his body language gave away the fact that he too knew the face of the man the Soldier had known as Crossbones.

 

~~

 

Clint shook his head as Rumlow and Rollins hauled him to his feet, jostling and shoving at him as they walked him closer to Pierce.

“I didn't think the Seattle Annex had any masks missing,” Pierce said conversationally as the two STRIKE teams flanked their little group.

“Had one tucked away for a rainy day,” Clint replied with as much of a shrug as he could manage with Rollins's arms holding him. “This is all a very Scooby Doo moment right now isn't it? 'Cept, you're not really a good Fred, and Jack here would need about ten doobies to manage Shaggy.”

Rumlow slammed the butt of one of his batons into Clint's side, and Clint laughed around the spike of pain, unwilling to let them hear how much that had hurt. “Okay I give up – I'm Old Farmer Thompson, but it's you meddling kids that are the bad guys.”

God, he hoped Bucky had sent up the alarm. Not that Nat or Fury would make it in time, but as long as Bucky was still recording things, he had some proof for them at least, even if Clint wouldn't benefit from it himself. Maybe he'd be lucky and they'd just try to toss him in a cell or something, try to figure out what he knew.

“You sure got a mouth on you,” Rumlow breathed into his ear.

“So I've been told – speaking of, has anyone told you about the benefits of breath mints?”

“Don't bother – he's up to something,” Pierce said when Rumlow went to hit Clint again.

“Well sure – spying on you. You already figured that one out, Councilor Obvious.”

Pierce rolled his eyes but didn't engage further, reaching up to rip off the mask Clint was wearing instead.

“Barton?” Rumlow barked out an angry laugh. “Everyone thought you bit it after the battle. Ate your gun, bow, whatever.”

“Surprise!” Clint smiled sunnily. “Reports of my death and exaggerations, and all that. You know how hard it is to get time off.”

“Who are you working with Barton?” Pierce asked, eyes narrowing as if he was trying to ascertain whether Clint was telling the truth or not.

“Me, myself, and I.”

“Bullshit.”

“Cows do too, Brock, but you don't hear them bragging.”

“Seattle was a two man job,” Pierce stated, tone even.

“I hired out,” Clint shrugged.

“And why did you break in there? What were you looking for?”

“Why go off the radar?”

“Who do I answer first? Cause you guys have almost like a carrot and stick thing going on and, while I'm sure Alex here is in charge, your boy Brock has the shocking stick...” Pierce raised his brow again.

“Okay, okay. Look – that shit with Loki? Kinda fucked me up. I needed a little time, but you know how Fury is. All those shrinks I'd have to talk to about my feelings and shit. So I bugged out, spent time lying low and trying to get my head on straight.”

“I feel for you, I really do. But what does that have to do with breaking into Seattle and coming here?” Pierce asked, and well, he actually sounded sincere enough that Clint wanted to applaud him.

“I heard things. Whispers, if you will.”

Pierce's eyebrow conveyed “go on”

“Some of the people I hired for Loki heard a thing or two about SHIELD. I just wanted some more information is all.”

“You wanted more information?” Clint couldn't see Rumlow rolling his eyes but he could feel it.

“Yes, I wanted more information. Circus doesn't mean stupid.”

“Not what I hear,” Rumlow muttered, and Clint kindly ignored that.

“They said there was more than meets the eye to SHIELD, and I don't mean the whole usual intelligence shtick.”

“And you thought you could figure it out by reading some files?” Pierce asked. He was assessing Clint.

“Well it's not like I could go to Fury or Hill or the Council for that matter, now could I?” Pierce nodded again. “Look there’s some sort of schism at least, or else that second fighter never woulda been launched off the Helicarrier with that nuke.

“That's speculation, not proof. Those men and women had their orders.” Pierce said.

“That were counteracted by their immediate superior.”

“Chain of command, Barton. The Council supersedes Director Fury.”

“They do, yes, but if he never gave the order to launch, how did the Council reach those specific pilots directly? Communications weren't fully operational. You know I saw to that with Loki.”

“This is all just conspiracy fodder,” Pierce concluded and he stepped calmly back and away from Clint. “Get rid of him.”

“Hey wait – don't you want to know what I know?”

“What could you possible think you know?” Rumlow spat.

And, well, would it be called leading the witness if Clint said something to get a reaction out of them?

“Cut off one head...”

“Kill him.” Pierce's words were sharp and clear, and it was probably surprise that Clint had even mentioned Hydra, let alone that Pierce immediately ordered his death because of it, that had the STRIKE teams pause for a few seconds. Those few seconds were all Bucky needed, and hey – the comm hadn't been completely busted – because the next thing Clint knew, a shot had taken out Rollins, spraying blood and other things on Clint while he was diving for the floor at the same time another STRIKE member dropped.

And then the glass exploded inwards and Bucky tucked and rolled, springing up from the landing to stand with the wind blowing his hair around like some combination of romance novel cover and action movie hero.

If the shit hadn't hit the fan so spectacularly and he hadn’t been about to be fighting for his life, Clint would be so turned on right now.

From there everything happened too fast to process. Clint and Bucky worked together as a team to take out the members of STRIKE. It would have been a million times easier if they’d just been trying to get out and away. Hell, they'd have managed that about two seconds after Bucky'd made his grand entrance. But they both knew they couldn't let anyone get away, especially Pierce, which meant their hits and shots had to be non-lethal if they could manage. Subdue, not kill. It all added up.

“ _Zhelaniye_ ”

Clint whipped his head around at the same time Bucky did.

“ _Rzhavyy_ "

Clint took a step towards Pierce, intending to punch the bastard, when pain lit from a point on his leg and he went down with a shout. Kaminsky, one of Rumlow's little minions, was leading another five-man team in through the door.

" _Semnadstat'_ "

Clint heard the ping of bullets being deflected off of Bucky's arm.

“ _Rassvet_ ”

Bucky howled in pain as Rumlow's electrified batons connected.

“ _Pech'_ ”

Kaminsky's team was creating a perimeter around the room.

“ _Devyat'_ ”

The tip of a gun was at Clint's head.

“ _Dobroserdechnyy_ ”

One of the many skills Clint had learned in the circus was how to swallow something and regurgitate it for usage later.

“ _Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu_ ”

Something like, say, a sonic arrowhead.

“ _Ahdyn_ ”

The last thing Clint heard was Bucky screaming his name as he bit down to activate the arrowhead.

 

~~

 

It felt like a knife to his head and Bucky staggered to the side, barely resisting the urge to cup his hands over his ears. Everyone else in the room wasn't so lucky, with the remaining members of the new STRIKE team writhing on the floor thanks to Clint. Crossbones was doubled over next to him. Bucky kicked him aside, satisfied that he didn't make a move to get up, as he strode over to Pierce.

“You're never going to control me again,” he said, relishing the look of fear in Pierce's eyes the moment before his metal fist connected with his face, shattering his jaw. He'd be eating through a tube for a long time in whatever hole he ended up being thrown into – if he didn't choke on his tongue first. From there it was short, brutal work for Bucky to take out the remaining men. He wasn't kind or gentle either, though he was relatively certain they'd survive with proper medical care.

Clint was sitting up by the time Bucky finished, and he gave a wobbly smile and thumbs up. Bucky felt something unclench inside him. It looked like they were both going to make it through this after all.

“We should cuff them all, just in case,” Clint said, well, shouted probably from the looks of it. Bucky's ears were beginning to clear after the sonic attack, but he did notice Clint sounded louder than he probably should. Bucky nodded back; they'd figure out what to do about any hearing damage Clint may have suffered when they were safely out of there. Clint wobbled as he stood, but he seemed to have things in hand as they worked their way around the room, putting cuffs and zip ties around the arms and legs of everyone there.

It was petty, but Bucky didn't think anyone would fault him for tightening the cuffs a little too much on Pierce. Nor for applying a healthy strip of duct tape over his mouth, even with his jaw hanging so crookedly that he'd not be able to talk at all.

There was a soft noise behind him, and Bucky turned to see what it was. The color faded from his face as he saw Crossbones sink a knife into Clint's side. He'd barely blinked and he was on Crossbones, grabbing and twisting his head, snapping his neck like a twig, and shoving his body to the side to pull Clint into his lap.

“Clint? Clint, c'mon, stay with me, darlin. Stay with me.” Heedless of the blood, Bucky held his metal hand to the wound, knife still embedded within it and maybe the only reason Clint wasn't bleeding out already.

“Wish I could hear your voice,” Clint said, not as loud as before. Bucky was worried that this meant he was losing strength too quickly.

“Well, who was the idiot that set off a sonic weapon, huh?” He watched Clint's eyes follow his lips.

“Saved your big dramatic ass didn't it?” Clint smiled, though it was followed by a cough.

“You love my ass and my drama.” Bucky ran his fingers along the side of Clint's face.

“I love you,” Clint said, coughing again. And Bucky tried not to let the panic show on his face. “Tell 'em I'm sorry when they get here, kay?”

“You're going to tell them yourself.”

“Sure thing,” Clint said, head lolling briefly before he snapped back to attention. “Buck, I-”

“Shh, shh...” Bucky watched a tear fall onto Clint's face. He hadn't realized he'd started crying.

“Need a nap.” Clint raised his fingers to touch Bucky's cheek. Ghost over his lips.

“I love you, Clint,” he said, holding Clint's palm to his lips. “I love you.”

“I got to save you in the end.” Clint smiled so beautifully that Bucky's heart clenched at the sight before he'd even registered the words.

“Please don't go, Clint.” he said as Clint's eyes slipped shut. “Please don't go, I need to save you too. We had a deal, you and me. You save me, I save you.” But Clint's eyes didn't open. He wasn't gone, but he was unconscious, and Bucky didn't know how he was going to keep him alive and get him to safety.

Even worse was the fact that he heard someone entering the room from behind him. He steeled himself, tightening an arm around Clint, and stating with more surety than he thought he could manage. “If you save this man I'll rejoin you. Wipe me, keep me on ice, whatever - just as long as he's alive and safe. But if he dies you're going to have to kill me too because you'll never be fast enough to stop me, and I'll never tell you my secrets.” There was silence behind him, and then:

“Bucky?”

“Steve!” Bucky felt himself sag in relief. “Steve help me, it's Clint-”

There was a strange mechanical whine and Iron Man – Stark Jr – was entering through the broken window. “What the fuck happened here?”

“We need an EMT stat,” a woman's voice said as she darted around Bucky and knelt to the ground. Red hair. She seemed familiar, but Bucky put that out of his mind when she asked, “How long?”

“Only a few minutes,” he replied as Iron Man flew back out of the window. “You're Natasha?”

“Keep the pressure on it,” she said with a nod, as if he were going to do anything else. “Steve, put in a call for paramedics for the rest of these people.”

“They're Hydra,” Bucky said bitterly, willing Stark to move faster. “Most should be alive. We had-” and then the sound of Iron Man's repulsors met his ears and he watched with amazement as he carried a bucket bed and a paramedic in through the window. Natasha rattled off the facts, Clint's age and the injuries she'd noticed as the EMT carefully began to address the stab wound. “There might be damage to his ears. He set off a sonic device in his mouth.”

He was aware that Natasha reacted to that, heard Steve's voice over a comm system calling for additional EMTs. Bucky watched as Iron Man hooked the bucket with Clint in it up to some cables and helped guide it and the EMT out the window towards a medical helicopter.

“Bucky? Buck - c'mon man, you need to explain a few things.” Steve's voice finally registered again and Bucky looked him in the eye as he settled on the floor in front of him.

“Steve?” And the smile on Steve's face, how big his eyes looked with unshed tears, brought Bucky fully back to himself. “Steve.” He smiled back.

“Yeah Buck, it's me. And it's you too. Not sure how you got here either but,” Steve took a breath. “But I think that's something to figure out later. You mentioned Hydra? Are you- what did you mean?”

“That metal-armed freak show doesn't know jack shit,” one of the STRIKE members said, having regained consciousness. “He and Barton came busting in here to attack Councilor Pierce.”

“He's lying,” Bucky replied. “He's Hydra. So is Pierce.”

“Oh really? What proof do you have beyond your own delusions?”

“Clint gave me the address to the server where the recording of this meeting was being uploaded as it was happening,” Natasha replied.

“No one gave away anything in the meeting – we were listening in too. You've no proof that Hydra still exists or how deeply we're embedded except for the delusions of the Winter Soldier – who's nothing more than a killing machine. He killed three agents today for Barton, who admitted he went a little crazy because of Loki. Stellar witnesses you've got.”

Bucky stiffened, ready to hold Steve down for the insult tossed at him, but it was Natasha who moved towards the agent.

“If Clint dies you'll have me to answer to, Kaminsky,” she said, low and full of promise. “And by the way – thank you for the admission that you're a member of Hydra. And the confirmation that it still exists.”

“What do you – like hell anyone is going to believe you and Rogers wouldn't lie for your pals.”

“I may just be a killing machine,” Bucky said, slowly getting to his feet. “But I'm a killing machine with a microphone that's been recording everything you just said and uploading it to the same server that Clint used.” He tapped his comm unit and allowed himself to grin as Kaminsky blanched.

“If you spill everything to us maybe we'll be able to find you a nice cell all to yourself so your Hydra buddies can't get angry with you for ratting them out,” Steve said, standing behind Bucky and putting a hand on his shoulder in support.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some small liberties with some of the transliterations to make them easier to pronounce.


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Once again Clint found himself swimming back to consciousness, entirely unsure of how he was still alive. The first thing he noticed was that the world around him was almost completely muted. Coming to that realization had been something of a relief actually because for a moment, he’d been certain he'd dreamed everything. And he did mean everything – everything since New York. The idea that he would have been saved by and fallen in love with the Winter Soldier was almost too much to believe; it would have made more sense for him to have dreamed everything in his fevered haze on that abandoned roof.

But no. It had to have happened, at least some of it, because the bedroom he was in was familiar. Comfortable. It was the cool blues of the bedroom he and Bucky had shared back in Bodega Bay.

Clint tried reaching a hand up to feel his ears, finding them swaddled in cotton and bandages. Maybe that accounted for the muted quality, though he had his suspicions it didn't. He was missing too much. With the way he'd used the sonic arrowhead he was pretty sure he'd caused severe damage.

Clint tried sitting up only to fall back to the pillows in a wave of dizziness, just barely avoiding retching as his head swam and his stomach churned.

That said about all it needed about the damage he'd likely caused his inner ear – his balance was tentative at best at the moment, and once he'd collected himself he frowned because – where was everyone?

Bucky strode into the room, ipad or some such in hand, and Clint felt tears spring to his eyes because fucking again he was on the good meds, and here was Bucky, safe and whole in front of him – but he couldn't hear him. It read something like “Darlin,’ good see awake” but - he couldn’t hear him.

“I ca-can't hear you.” Bucky didn't wince but Clint was sure he'd been too loud.

“I had a hunch about that,” Bucky said, angling the Stark-pad so that Clint could read the words on it as he spoke. “You did a lot of damage with that arrowhead.”

“Worth it,” Clint said vehemently. “I'd do it again to save you.” He'd do just about anything for Bucky, who had settled at his side and was giving him an exasperated and loving look. If Clint was lucky, luckier than he'd ever been in his entire life, Bucky would get used to giving him that look and he would get used to seeing it every day.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, leaning in to press their lips together. They pulled apart to share a smile. Bucky brushed a hand over Clint's jaw and leaned in for another kiss, sweet and tender and lingering.

Clint leaned up as Bucky moved away, chasing his lips by habit, and making a noise when his body protested. Bucky fussed over him briefly, helping him sit up and slipping pillows behind him. If Clint was honest, he'd much rather have Bucky's solid body to lean against, but he also realized that even with the Stark-pad, talking with Bucky right now would be difficult. If he couldn't hear him, he needed to be able to see him or it would all be too much.

And so they sat together on the bed as Bucky explained what had happened – how the Avengers had shown up, and how Kaminsky had inadvertently helped expose Hydra. It wasn't the end of things by any stretch of the imagination – Fury would have to be very cautious with the information he'd been given, especially considering Pierce, one of his own mentors, had been among the Hydra leadership. But he and those closest to him, those he trusted, had a place to start from and more digging to do.

“Fury said when you were up to it he wanted you back in the fold,” Bucky said quietly, his head tipping so that his hair brushed at his lips. Clint was glad for the Stark-pad because as attractive as Bucky looked with his hair in his face it made lipreading a bitch. “Said this was all because of you. And well, me too, but – you were the important part of the conversation to him.”

“Aww Nick...” Clint turned his head and buried his face against a pillow for a moment. The drugs would not make him get weepy that his boss cared about and respected him. They wouldn't. He also needed a little time to figure out what Bucky wasn't telling him. Or at least, what he wasn't saying out loud. Bucky touched his arm and Clint turned to face the room again to find that Steve was standing in the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hey Clint. Glad you're back with us. I um – I'm going to be making dinner soon – you think you can manage something?”

Clint let his gaze go to Bucky, who gave a little shrug and made a face that indicated 'not too bad', then looked back at Steve and nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Clint didn’t really feel up to figuring out how to modulate the volume of his voice. It was one thing to be off and sound dumb in front of Bucky, but another thing entirely to do it in front of Captain America. Even if he was wearing an apron with kittens on it.

“What sort of things have you been telling him about my cooking?” Steve asked Bucky. “You been lying about me? Telling him about boiling everything?”

“I mean you did boil stuff sometimes...” Bucky replied, and Clint huffed out a laugh but soon grew tired of watching the two of them bicker, both in person and on the screen. He let his attention drift. There was a vase of purple irises next to the bed that screamed Nat had been there, and he wondered if she, like Steve, was still around. Bucky reached out to turn his face back towards him and he noted that Steve had stepped back out and closed the door.

“So uh – fair warning. Steve kinda moved into the basement. He has a sleeping bag and an air mattress and – yeah. Natasha is trying to get him to detach a little like she has – get a condo up the road or something, but, he's Steve and therefore stubborn. And, well, Stark isn't here, but he sort of is? In that he seemed to have purchased the contents of an entire store for us – I mean, there is stuff he left here that I don't know what to do with. And he sounded vaguely threatening when he pointed out he could get here in just a few minutes. He also kept muttering about making us a robot – not one of the armed ones, which, are fucking awesome by the way, but a new one like a “roomba on steroids”? I think Dr. Banner and another guy called Rhodey talked him down from that, and also from installing an AI like his butler back in Malibu… Which Natasha said Pepper wouldn’t approve of.”

Was Clint missing something? Was he delirious again or the pad malfunctioning or something? He didn't think he was that bad at reading lips...

“Clint?”

“Hmm?” And Bucky must have seen something in the expression on Clint's face because his softened, his smile turning wry at the corners.

“They were all worried about you. Your team. Some friends back in SHIELD.” He gestured to the room where there were not only the irises from Natasha, but also a number of other gifts strewn about, including a stuffed bear wearing what looked suspiciously like a toy version of his costume. There was a basket filled with tins of tea and coffee samples, another few bouquets of flowers, a pile of books and...and a bouquet of _arrows_. “You might not believe it, but there are a number of people in this world who care about you, Clint.”

And oh god, he was crying. He was fucking crying.

“This is so embarrassing,” he sniffed, grateful that Bucky just smiled at him and brushed a few of the tears away.

“Take your time, Clint. We've got all the time in the world now.”

 

~~

 

Bucky hadn't been kidding or exaggerating. Tony had purchased them enough food for an army, clothing and linens, and who knew what else was in the POD in the back yard. He had also installed a state-of-the-art computer and security system for them. Not to mention...

“We uh, we sort of own the place now,” Bucky had admitted. He explained how he'd called Eloise to ask if they'd be able to rent the place again so Clint could recuperate. Tony had stepped in and offered to purchase it for the two of them.

“They're still working on figuring out Steve's pension, let alone mine, so Stark called it a gift.”

“Specifically, a wedding present,” Natasha added as she had joined Bucky, Clint , and Steve for dinner. “But that was mostly a joke.”

“Mostly?” Clint asked, fairly confident he wasn't too loud, and he watched with interest as the back of Bucky's neck went red even as he rolled his eyes. He and Steve then had a heated discussion about how senses of humor were so different in this century, and how weird it was.

Natasha arched one perfect brow and gave Clint her most secret of smiles.

 

~~

 

Clint took a deep breath and nuzzled against Bucky's chest, pressing a kiss to his right pec before settling his head against him. Bucky carded his fingers through Clint's hair and sighed, slipping into the comfortable state of not-quite-asleep-but-also-not-awake for a good ten minutes. He felt Bucky clear his throat and his body go tense. He clearly had something he wanted to say or talk about, and it was going to bother him until he got it out.

Clint gave Bucky’s chest another nuzzling kiss before opening his eyes and rolling over to grab the Stark-pad from the night stand and turn the light on. Figuring they both needed as much bodily contact as possible, Clint turned back over to settle against Bucky's chest, propping his chin on one hand while the other settled the pad next to Bucky's head so he could look between it and his lips as he spoke.

“I just...We never...” Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes at himself and Clint gave him a nod of encouragement when their eyes met. “Can we talk about the future? Or is that too big, or too soon, or...” He let the sentence hang.

The future. Clint remembered how a week ago he'd confessed to Bucky that he'd never really thought he had a future, and certainly not one with a happy ending. “The one you talked about back in Minnesota?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, running a finger down the side of Clint's face. “Where the biggest thing I have to worry about is keeping you in your honestly scary coffee habit.”

“Hey – you match me cup for cup most days baby, you don't have room to talk.”

“I suppose not.” Bucky's smile was beautiful but wistful.

“You still wanna retire, huh?”

“Yeah.” It was more a nod than a word, though the Stark-pad did pick it up. Maybe that was what Bucky had been worried about earlier.

“And you don't think I do?” Bucky winced and Clint had a moment of concern over if he'd been too loud. Bucky's face went through a series of micro-expressions before seemingly settling on resigned concern.

“Do you?” Bucky asked eventually.

It was on the tip of Clint's tongue to reply that of course he wanted to, he wanted nothing more than to be with Bucky, to have his chance at happiness. But something made him pause. It shouldn't have. If Bucky hadn't been reason enough, it wasn't like he would be able to go back into the field. His head was too messed up from Loki, and then there was the fact that he might be deaf...

“Stark's planning on making you some hearing aids,” Bucky said, proving how scarily well he knew Clint. “Breakthrough for the industry, he claimed. Even without them, I don't see hearing loss slowing you down, darlin'.

“You don't?” And hey, Clint had managed to get all the doubt he felt through in his tone without being able to hear himself if Bucky's expression was anything to go by. Bucky's lips pursed and turned into a brief frown before he brought a hand up to stroke Clint's cheek that exasperated fondness slowly taking over again.

“If I have learned anything about you these past few months, it's that absolutely nothing is going to stop you from doing what you want. Not getting over a god messing around in your mind, or a new disability. If you want to go back into the field, you'll do it because you're you, and you can do anything.” Bucky enunciated carefully so Clint could read his lips, his finger passing over Clint's forehead, then ears. They were free of the bandages now that he was fully awake and wasn't likely to scratch them by accident.

Clint removed his hand and pressed the side of his face against Bucky's chest, unable to meet his gaze. He knew too much about Clint. Believed in him too much, and that scared him. With a sigh deep enough to be felt, Bucky's hand returned to carding through Clint's hair, and he felt a buzzing under his cheek as Bucky said something he couldn't hear. Clint didn't feel up to looking at the Stark-pad. He could make an educated guess though, and he whispered “You save me, I save you,” in return.

 

~~

 

A few days later they were curled up on the porch on a couch, a housewarming gift from Eloise, watching Steve and Natasha competing in some sort of horrible fitness challenge they had concocted to see which was in better shape (a draw, so far). The two raced up and down the hill to the beach below.

“I think I'm going to retire as well,” Clint said, not looking at Bucky. He wasn't sure he was ready for the reaction. Especially since he was about to make it a more complicated statement. “I mean, mostly retire anyway.” And of course Bucky wasn't going to stand for that, hooking a finger gently under Clint's chin to turn his face towards him.

“Go on.” Bucky's face was open, accepting, and Clint wondered not for the first time and certainly not the last, what he'd done to deserve him.

“I feel like... I want...” Clint sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Why were words so fucking hard? “I know I don't have an obligation to SHIELD, especially now that we know what we know, but Nick... I owe Nick my life. He gave me the chance that led to this, and I am not sure I can ever repay that. I want to help him, but I don't want to be an active agent. I can do behind-the-scenes stuff. Maybe an op or two if I'm really needed. Heck, I'd be willing to train up a batch of baby agents that he picks out so we know they're not gonna turn out to be Hydra.”

“That makes sense.” Bucky's expression looked gentle, and if Clint had to guess his tone must have matched.

“And the Avengers...” Clint trailed off and watched as the two figures raced down the beach below them. “If something big enough needs them, it probably needs me with them. At least sometimes.”

“Of course.”

“Mostly though, I want to be here with you.” Clint placed his hand over the one Bucky had settled on his leg. “And I want to travel more with you. Go back to New Orleans, drive up the Great River Road and along the old Route 66. Go overseas without it being because I have to shoot someone. I want to go to the touristy places and the hidden little gems, and just be that annoying couple that's stupidly in love and having a great time together.”

Bucky leaned in and pressed their lips together for a lingering kiss, grabbing a few extra smooches afterwards before smiling at Clint with such blinding happiness Clint felt his heart swell.

“That sounds just about perfect,” Bucky replied, stealing another kiss for good measure. “And if it’s really end-of-the-world level bad, I suppose I could join you.”

“We'll be the most kick-ass battle couple anyone's ever seen if it comes to that. Probably only be a one and done – ain't no one going to want to mess with us or our clique.”

They were still giggling in a mixture of happiness and amusement when Natasha and Steve jogged back up to the porch. Steve's unabashed pleasure at seeing his best friend happy radiated out of him as he came to a stop. Natasha's feelings were more quietly expressed, a tiny curve of a smile, though no less strong for it.

“You guys want to share with the class?”

“Inside joke.” Bucky replied with a wave at Steve.

“You good though?”

Bucky and Clint paused and looked carefully at each other. It wouldn't be a stretch to say they were good. Sure, they weren't anywhere near perfect; Clint guessed neither of them would get a healthy bill from a psychiatrist, but they were working on it. More importantly they both were much, much better than they had been months ago. And, dare Clint think it, getting better every day.

“Yeah Stevie. We're good.” Clint watched Bucky say before tucking his head back in against his shoulder.

Yeah. They were good.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are not required but very much appreciated. It was incredibly disheartening to get home from work to upload the remainder and see nearly 200 hits but no comments. And if I am jerk for pointing that out, then I'm a jerk.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683460) by [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/pseuds/mekare)
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